


The Art of Breaking

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BDSM, Berlin Wall, Cold War, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf





	1. Chapter 1

Russia was standing on the balcony of his house in Leningrad. He had a lazy smile on his face. His thoughts were focused on how well things were going between himself and Prussia. The invasion of Poland had been perfect, there had even been a moment when they had been so close that Russia could almost taste the porcelain skin. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips remembering it. Then he had seen glorious retribution exacted upon France at the albino's hand; it had been beautiful and only reinforced the cruelty Russia had seen behind those eyes when offering the nonaggression pact.

Below him he could see people milling about, doing tasks that would help the war. It wasn't entirely necessary, considering how handily the army had dealt with every challenge yet. He took a step closer to the edge of the balcony, feeling the rare warmth of the sun wash across his face. His smile spread all the way across his face.

There was the soft thump of boot steps sounded behind him, but it wasn't worrying. No one who meant him harm could get in here, his guards would make sure of that. He barely turned as he said, "Who is there?" On some level, he understood that the person behind him had too much weight in his step to be either of his sisters.  
The voice that responded was male and very familiar, "You already know, Ivan."

Prussia's voice, so very unique, was a welcome surprise. Russia had sensed that there was chemistry between them, but he hadn't expected the other to act on it so quickly. He spoke, without turning to face Prussia; "You're seeking me out by yourself, Gilbert?" He couldn't stop his smile, knowing where this was going to go. He turned slowly, for dramatic effect and to prolong the joy of seeing Prussia submissive. He spoke as he did so, "It's almost as though you're fond of-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a jolt of pain shot through his chest. The force of whatever had hit him knocked him back. The pain overwhelming his senses, he didn't make the choice to fall to one knee. He put one hand to the center of the burning pain and felt wetness and a distinct hole. His mind finally caught up with what his body was telling him. He had been shot.

Russia looked up at the man standing on the other side of the room, his eyes starting to burn with unbidden tears. The white hair and skin was obvious against the black uniform. The white hands were wrapped around a sleek black handgun with a silencer attached. Prussia's face was completely expressionless until he noticed that Russia was glaring at him. Then he smiled and took a couple even steps forward, "Does that hurt, communist pig?"

A click, which was seemingly deafening in the silent room, signaled that Prussia had cocked the gun again. He walked still closer, while Russia contemplated if he had enough strength to push himself up and tackle the albino. But, something other than his pain was freezing him. The moisture that had been stinging his eyes slowly ran down his cheeks. He refused to voice this weakness though. He looked up and said between his gritted teeth, "We had a pact!"

Once he got closer, the light fell across Prussia's face, revealing that his eyes were completely void of emotion. Even the smile painted across the pale lips didn't seem to reach into the endless ruby. The German responded, "We did, while you were useful. But there was one factor: Your ideology is a disease that should be wiped from the Earth." He took the final step that closed the space between them. The barrel of the gun filled the Russian's vision, long and twisting, the black depth promising a quick death.

Russia spoke the only words that could come to his mind, "How can someone like you become that madman's lapdog?" He spat the words with utter venom, hoping to get some response.  
Prussia finally truly reacted, growling in the back of his throat. He spoke, "If you want to waste your last breaths insulting me, that's your choice. It only shortens the time before I put a bullet in your head." Russia could see the single white finger move to the trigger.

But, a minute passed and then another. There was no sound but the silence and drops of blood rolling off of Russia's hand and hitting the floor with an irritating kind of regularity. Then, Prussia's face slipped into a grimace for a split second before returning to completely emotionless and his finger slipped off the trigger. With a dull thud, the hammer of the gun slipped back into place with no shot exploding out of the end of the muzzle. Without a single word, the albino turned sharply on his heel and walked out.

Russia finally forced himself to his feel and yelled after the other, "You better kill me now, or I will make you pay tenfold for this!" Prussia turned one more time. His face was completely pale, a white mask. His jaw was clearly set and clenched. He raised the gun one more time and fired again. This time the bullet smashed through the shoulder, knocking Russia again to his knees. As the door closed behind Prussia, Russia let out a long groan born of a mix of frustration and pain. He had been naïve, even absurdly trusting and now he was paying for it. But, a single spark of rage ignited. He vowed to wage a war of total destruction, to bring Prussia down.


	2. Chapter 2

The cell was lit only by a single exposed bulb, which swung slowly although there was no movement of the air in the room. Prussia was walking around the sparse space in small circles. His mind was reeling. He had been captured by the Red Army, and Berlin had most likely fallen. From this windowless room, with its grim concrete walls, he had had no news of the outside world. It had been at least a couple days since he had been captured, but it was hard to say without a clock or any view of the sun. The hours all blended together and seemed to stretch on eternally.

Prussia glanced down at his forearms, which were exposed because he was wearing nothing on his upper body but his undershirt. The skin was stained purple with deep bruising. If he had a mirror, he would probably see that there was similar bruising across one side of his face. He hadn't gone down without a fight and his body now bore the marks of it.

The sound of the latch on the other side of the door alerted Prussia to the fact that the thick metal door was about to swing open. He took several steps back so that he would have some opportunity to resist whatever was about to happen. The Soviet officer on the other side of the door was mortal, and obviously only a messenger. He was flanked by a pair of foot soldiers who were holding rifles. They seemed completely unnecessary considering Prussia was completely alone and unarmed. The officer spoke, "Comrade Braginski has instructed us to bring you to him."

Prussia expected nothing less; he had been waiting for Russia to summon him. He mustered all of his remaining pride and straightened his spine. He was half in a state of undress because the top of his uniform had been confiscated, but he refused to act like he was missing anything. He refused to act like he was defeated or broken. He took a couple steps forward, but was signaled to stop. He stood stock still as the mortal walked toward him and silently attached handcuffs to both of the albino's wrists in front of his body. Again, this seemed excessive; Prussia could hardly have done anything with his hands to change the predicament that he was in.

The journey through the twisted hallways was silent but for the sound of boots hitting the floor. They eventually reached a door, which was pulled open. Prussia felt a hand on the center of his back. A sharp shove forced the albino to stumble forward into the room. It was not an expansive space, but it seemed huge after the close confines of the cell. A table was set it the middle of the room, covered in more food than Prussia had seen in quite a while. Russia was sitting at the head of the table. He looked up as the door opened and smiled. He gestured to the only other chair in the room and said, "Seat him there and then leave us." The mortals obeyed without a sound. The pair of foot soldiers grabbed the albino by the shoulders and forced him down into a sitting position in the chair. Once that was done, they all left the room.

Prussia turned his gaze to Russia, who was looking at him with a smirk that would have turned most men's blood to ice. They were very close together, far closer than Prussia was comfortable. He could feel the violet eyes boring into him. But, he wouldn't back down; he wouldn't tremble before Russia like one of the Baltic States. He was spitefully silent, but it didn't matter, because the other addressed him, "You look terrible, Gilbert."

Prussia mustered as much hate as he could and said, "I would look better if I was properly dressed." The other laughed coldly and slowly stood.  
He then spoke, taking a step closer to the albino as he spoke, "No, I don't think so. I don't want to see those SS bolts on your lapel. I don't want to see a swastika on your arm. And considering your position, what I want is really all that matters." Russia put his gloved hand under the albino's chin, almost gently. He turned the head slightly from side to side. Prussia wanted to resist, but this gesture wasn't hurting him, so he would save his strength for when he really needed to save himself from harm.

Russia still had a laugh in his voice when he said, "You've been living on rations for a while, haven't you?" Prussia gritted his teeth and refused to answer. The truth was that he had been. It had been essential that military rations be small and simple in order to maintain the war effort. As the allies had closed in, the servings of food had gotten smaller. For countries, there was no possibility of starving, but they still showed the signs of deprivation.

His stony silence did nothing to change Russia's pleased expression. The Russian spoke again, "You don't have to confirm that, little Nazi. I can see it in your eyes, in your cheeks. You still have your pretty face, but I can see that you're hungry. I've gotten used to seeing that look on men's faces" The buried compliment was even mocking. Prussia growled audibly, but still kept himself from speaking.

Russia's smile finally slipped, replaced by a neutral expression that was all the more intimidating. His hand tightened on the albino's jaw, it became uncomfortable. Prussia opened his mouth to alleviate the pain. It helped, but it also returned the smile to the Russian's face. He spoke, "I don't think you understand the rules. Either you speak to me, or I make you scream." He released the German's jaw and sat back down.

Prussia, understanding the rules, but unwilling to be completely compliant, said, "This only lasts until the rest of your allies have a say, so enjoy being able to abuse me while you can." The threat sounded completely hollow, and Russia wasn't stirred.  
He said, "You should focus on this moment for your own sake. And in this moment, the question is if this smells appealing to you." With that, Russia grabbed a plate from the middle of the table and sat it right in front of Prussia. There was a white napkin wrapped around whatever was on the plate. When Russia unwrapped it, an entire loaf of bread was revealed. The scent that emanated from it was indeed tantalizing. Prussia hadn't smelled fresh bread in quite a while, since the war had really begun looking hopeless. The smell was overwhelming, buttery and yeasty. The warmth of the bread only intensified the appetizing scent.

His stomach growled without his consent, loudly enough for Russia to hear it and say, "I'll take that as a yes. Why don't you take a piece?" The taunt was completely transparent; Prussia's hands were bound in handcuffs and therefor useless to him. He glared at the Russian, trying to convey his frustration with only his eyes.  
A minute elapsed in silence before Russia said with a cruel childish smile, "Oh, but I forgot that you can't. Here, let me help you." He reached forward and tore a piece off of the loaf. Russia was so close now that Prussia's mouth was beginning to water. He could almost imagine the taste of proper food.

The Russian held the food tauntingly close for a couple seconds and then said, "I could feed you, but then I remember that you starved hundreds of thousands of people in Leningrad." The violet eyes suddenly turned to shards of ice. Russia stood up, pulling his hand away from Prussia's face. He reached over and grabbed the chain that connected the pair of handcuffs. The hands were pulled up over Prussia's head and behind his back, straining his shoulder joints. The pain wasn't extreme, but it was enough to pull his attention away from everything else.

Russia was now standing to the side of the chair with one hand easily restraining both of the albino's hands. He leaned forward and spoke in Prussia's ear, "You need to feel their pain. Did you really expect me to clothe you, feed you, and care for you, Nazi? After what you did, you need to suffer." The albino's heart was pounding in his chest, set racing by fear. He was at the mercy of a psychopath who was hell-bent on revenge.

Prussia spat back, "What are you going to do, you sick communist bastard?" Russia's free hand moved to the albino's barely concealed chest, and slipped under the thin undershirt. Prussia attempted to writhe away from the touch, but Russia simply pulled the albino's hands back farther, causing pain to shoot from his shoulders. Prussia had to clench his teeth to stop himself from crying out. In the midst of the pain, the hand moved further down Prussia's chest, taking advantage of the vulnerable position.

Russia's words worked their way into the other's ear, strangely smooth and seductive, "I asked myself the same thing, how best to punish you in this time we have together. Have you heard how my men have been taking their vengeance?" The tone of his voice clearly said what he meant. Prussia knew that Russia was referring to the rapes, and it chilled his blood. The threat was all too transparent, but there was nothing the albino could do to prevent it. He nodded slowly, knowing perfectly well what this response would mean.

Russia responded to the nod with a mirthless laugh, "I don't approve of it, but for you I could make an exception." The hand roaming over his chest continued to move without any resistance. As it dipped lower, brushing over the skin of Prussia's stomach sparks of sensation raced across his skin. Prussia didn't want to be enjoying any of this, but he couldn't deny that the feeling of leather brushing against his skin was thrilling. He couldn't let this progress any further. He viciously fought back against the hold and said, "Get your hands off me!"

Again, Russia seemed completely unshaken by the command. He pulled the other's hands back again, causing Prussia to actually cry out in pain. The Russian spoke again, "Why? Are you going to stop me? But don't worry I'm not going to rape you; that wouldn't be nearly enough. I'm going to do worse: I'm going to tell you about your future."

The German responded quickly with all too obvious confusion, "What are you talking about?" He had the feeling that this kind of insolent question would usually have elicited more punishment, but Russia seemed too fixated on skipping to revealing his plan. He moved his hand back up to Prussia's chest, still not breaking the contact, before saying, "The plans for peace have already been decided on. And since I did most of the European fighting, I get half of Germany. I'm going to insist that I get the West."

Prussia immediately understood. He curled both of his hands into tight fists. For the first time since the torment had started, Russia fixed his eyes on the albino's face, smiling sweetly at the look of hatred he found there. He continued talking in the same taunting tone, "I see you understand what that means. I will have your little brother under my watch with no supervision from anyone else. For his sake, I hope he is more pliable than you." He punctuated this with one more hard jerk to Prussia's bound hands. Again, the albino couldn't stop himself from crying out. The abused joints were protesting and sending burning pain through every possible nerve.

But, there was something more important for Prussia to do. He was shaking out of rage, not pain. He snarled back, "You will never have Ludwig!" Russia leaned closer, so that their faces were only inches apart, his cold eyes fixed directly on Prussia's.  
He spoke again, "But I will. How are you going to protect your brother when you can't stop me from doing anything I want to you."

His hand found one of the albino's nipples and grabbed onto it, twisting it until the man screamed. Prussia's back arched away from the chair, only causing more pain coming from his already sore shoulder joints. The mix of pain and a perverse sense of masochistic pleasure was enough to make him close his eyes. Russia's quiet voice came distinctly in his ear, "Go ahead Gil, stop me."

In agonizing frustration, He realized that there was no way to fight back from this position. Prussia responded, finally breaking down and admitting defeat, "I can't." With that admission, Russia released the nipple. The albino opened his eyes and realized that the other had gotten even closer. Their lips were practically touching. Russia was smiling with a sense of triumph that turned the other's stomach.

He moved the hand that had been assaulting the albino's chest to again holding on to the other's jaw. He continued speaking, "No you can't. Do you feel useless?" Prussia refused to give his tormentor any more satisfaction. He responded by saying, through his teeth that were clenched so tightly that his jaw muscles were aching, "I will die before I let you touch Ludwig!"

Russia sighed in frustration and released his hold on the handcuffs. The albino's hands fell back into his lap, immediately relieving the pain. Russia turned and said, not facing Prussia, "We leave for Potsdam in a couple hours. I will have half of Germany and there is nothing you can do to change that." He then turned back around again and signaled to the door, which swung open. Russia gave orders quickly, "Take the Nazi back to his cell and don't open the door for the rest of the night. He had important things to consider."  
________________________________________________________________________________

Prussia was again pacing back and forth in the small cell. The conversation with Russia continued to run through his head in a continuous loop. He couldn't let Russia have his little brother, the boy he had loved and nurtured for years. It was his responsibility to protect Germany that much was unequivocal in his mind. The question was how he did that. He wasn't strong enough to stop Russia that much had been perfectly clear from the way he had been so completely dominated.

His mind was fixed on the final sentence. Russia had said that he would have half of Germany, but he hadn't said that what half was decided. He had actually made it clear that the decision was not made. From this information, Prussia's mind started to create a solution. Russia could have a half of Germany, but not the one who wanted. It was terrifyingly simple. If Prussia offered to be taken by Russia, no one would deny him.

But, this idea was repulsive. He remembered the way that the man had run his hand over his body, the sickening thrill of it. He didn't want to think that he was a masochist, but he knew, and had known for years, that a suppressed part of his mind craved pain and dominance. If he was under Russian control constantly, that could all too easily be revealed. If it did slip out, then there was no way of knowing how far Russia would go to manipulate him. Prussia also knew that if he volunteered to be controlled by Russia, he would be subjected to torture.

But, none of that mattered. If it kept Germany from harm, then he could go through anything. Prussia finally stopped pacing. His decision was made, and there was no changing it. He knew what he was condemning himself to, but it was worth it for his brother's sake.

In the middle of this train of thought, the door to the cell was opened. Prussia turned to face Russia who was standing in the doorway. The man took several steps into a room. He was carrying Prussia's uniform, newly crisp and clean. It was this that Russia extended to Prussia, "Put this on. You might as well look presentable for your sentencing. Let your brother see you looking well one last time."

Silently, the German took the garment and pulled it on. It was immaculately pressed, so it was easy to put on and have perfectly in place. Once he was done with the buttons, Prussia looked back up at his captor. Russia was contemplating him with an expression that almost looked hungry. He took another step forward and placed one of his massive hands on the albino's shoulder and said, "Ready to say goodbye?"  
The albino looked up into the violet eyes and reminded himself of his plan and said, "Yes, I am."  
____________________________________________________________________________________________

Russia pushed open one last pair of double doors open and they entered a large room already filled with people. There was a pair of long tables facing each other. The Allies, excluding Russia, were seated at the longer of the two tables. The other table had one empty chair. The others were filled by Austria and Germany.

As the pair entered the room, a hush fell over the entire room. Austria was the first to turn around and looked directly at Prussia. He said something to Germany, who then turned to look at his brother. A slight smile appeared on his face, which faded when Russia leaned over and whispered to Prussia, "He looks delicious, doesn't he?" His hand tightened on the albino's shoulder, the finger's digging into the flesh. He added, "Don't forget that he's mine."

For a moment Prussia glanced over at the other and noticed that the violet eyes were not on Ludwig, but were focused on him. He dismissed the idea that this might mean something. Russia released Prussia and walked over to sit next to his allies on the other side of the room. The albino then took his own place at the other table. As soon as he sat down, Germany leaned over and said, "Are you alright, Gil?"

Prussia tried to imagine what he looked like at the moment, tired and beaten. His brother was looking at the bruising across his face. Under the table, Prussia reached over and laid his hand on top of his brother's. He responded with the best smile he could muster, "I'm fine, Ludwig." His brother was about to speak when England cleared his throat loudly. Prussia didn't want to turn his attention away from his brother, and he did so only grudgingly.

England stood slowly and said, in the style of a judge passing sentence, "The three of you know what you are guilty of, I will not spend time on it. The agreement has been reached. Austria will again be separated from Germany. Both countries will be split into separate zones of occupation." At this point, Russia leaned over and opened his mouth as though he was about to speak. Prussia knew what he was about to say and he wouldn't allow it to be said. The moment had come and there was no turning back now. Gathering all his courage, he stood.

A murmur went around the room, but Prussia blocked it out. He looked directly at England and said, "I volunteer myself to be the Soviet occupied zone." His voice was strangely strong considering how shaken he felt. Austria immediately said, "Are you mad?" Prussia blocked out everyone else's reaction; he focused on his own statement.

As the words died in the air, all eyes turned to Prussia. The albino turned his own gaze to Russia, who was smirking at him. It caused his heart to drop out of his chest. He had wanted to see that he had defeated Russia in some way and there was no hint of that. England recovered from his shock first and said, "Very well, Gilbert. East Germany will be Soviet occupied." America cast a dark glare across the table at Russia, but said nothing.

England looked around at his allies and said, "If no one has any objections. This will be all for now. We will meet in a few years to reunify Germany." As the Briton stepped away from the table, America stood up and yelled at Russia, "I don't know what you did, but I hope you're happy." Without waiting for a response, America stormed out of the room. England and France followed soon after him. Russia remained behind, the same smirk still on his face. He then walked over to the Germanic countries, his every step was ominous. Prussia again felt his heart sink; Russia's expression was making him think that he had done something dreadfully wrong. But there was nothing he could do now; he had sealed his own fate. Russia said simply, "Good choice, Gilbert. I'll give you five minutes to say your goodbyes. Roderich, show some decency and leave the pair of them alone."

Austria complied with a pitying look towards Germany. Once Germany was completely alone with his brother, he said, emotion strangling his voice, "Why did you do that?"  
Prussia immediately responded, "Because I couldn't let him hurt you."  
Germany's blue eyes went wide, an almost childish expression of shock. He said, "What do you mean?"

Prussia sighed and put his hands on his brother's shoulders. The gesture was meant to focus Germany's attention squarely on him. He spoke calmly, trying to get his brother to understand his sacrifice, "Ivan wanted to have you and I had to do what I could to protect you."  
The blonde responded, the entire realization dawning across his face, "But he's going to hurt you."

Prussia nodded and voiced what he had decided on the night before, "It's better me than you." He quickly glancing at his wrist and remembered that he no longer had a watch, only blossoming bruises from the handcuffs. He felt that the time they had left was slipping away. Germany seemed to reach the same realization. In desperation, he threw his arms around his brother. The hug was tight and possessive.

Germany spoke in his brother's ear, "Our separation is only temporary. I will see you again soon." Knowing that prolonged contact would only hurt his brother more, Prussia gently pushed his brother away.  
He spoke, "Don't be like that. Remember what I taught you: Discipline and strength. You aren't a little boy anymore, Ludwig; you don't have to lean on me."

The door again opened behind Prussia, and he felt a cold draft of air wash over his back. The albino didn't need to look to know that Russia was behind him. The Russian spoke, "Your time is up, Gilbert." The albino nodded and turned and walked away. When he reached the door, he looked back one more time. He saw his brother looking at him with an expression of complete heartbreak.  
Prussia said, trying to be comforting, "Be strong, Ludwig."  
Germany nodded, almost tearful, "I will."


	3. Chapter 3

Once outside of the building, they walked out to a large black car. Lithuania was standing next to it, a cigarette stub between his lips. When he caught sight of Russia, he hurriedly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his foot. His eyes then moved to Prussia and a shadow crossed over his face. As they got closer, the Baltic man took a small step back. But, he stopped as soon as he realized that the situation wasn't going to mysteriously disappear.

When they got even closer, Russia walked over to Lithuania and simply said, "Handcuffs." The brunette mutely pulled a pair out of his jacket pocket and handed them to Russia. The Russian smiled as he took them and turned back to Prussia, "These are for you, Gil. Come over here and turn around." He cast a grimace in Russia's direction, but obeyed all the same. Now that he officially was under Soviet control, fighting over every little command seemed like a terrible idea.

He stopped right in front of Russia and turned. The other then reached out and attached the handcuffs to both of the albino's wrists. Prussia looked over his shoulder into the other's violet eyes, trying to read the expression. There was a cunning glee behind the eyes, which made the albino wonder what was about to happen that could provide so much joy. The metal tighten around his wrists, chilling the skin. Russia looked back up into the albino's face and smiled, "Enjoying the view?"

Prussia quickly shook his head and attempted to take a step forward. But, he couldn't get far because Russia's hands were still firmly on the handcuffs around his wrist. A single tug was enough to bring him back to where he was and another brought him against Russia's chest. Russia placed a light peck on the albino's neck. He then ran his hand down over Prussia's thigh. Russia then said, his eyes taking in Prussia's expression hungrily, "Are they tight enough?" He was referring to the handcuffs, but it took a second for the albino to realize that.

The cuffs were tight against his skin, but not uncomfortable. He couldn't have slipped these off without injuring himself. He responded honestly, "Yes." Russia smirked and tightened the handcuffs another click. Prussia gasped; the handcuffs were painfully tight now. The action was explained when Russia said, "We both know you're a liar." Without even glancing away, he added, "Stop staring, Toris. What I do to him is not of concern to you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Prussia saw Lithuania hurriedly duck inside the car. He couldn't help but be impressed by the absolute control this obedience showed. But, he had himself to focus on, and he could feel that his back was pressed flat against the other's chest. Russia then turned his commands to the albino, "You need to get in the car as well. Either you do it willingly or I make you." Again, it seemed unwise to resist on such a simple order. He climbed through the already open door into the back seat. He got to the far side and glanced over and saw Russia climbing in after him. Once inside, the Russian pulled the door closed. The ominous sound of the door closing jump-started Prussia's heart. It was as though he had suddenly realized how real this was. He was trapped. But, outwardly he couldn't show that realization.

The car roared to life. Prussia spoke, deciding to challenge Russia's dominance, "Tell me, Ivan, how does it feel to be thwarted?" He ignored the sense of foreboding he had felt from the Russian's expressions during the sentencing. But, the feeling came rushing back when the other started to laugh.  
The violet gaze turned directly to him, "Why should I feel thwarted when I got exactly what I wanted?"

The verbal conformation of what Prussia had been suspecting sent a cold jolt down his spine. He should have seen it, the blatant threats, the subtle hints, and that smug expression Russia had been wearing all the way to Potsdam. The albino gritted his teeth and said, "How dare you manipulate me like that?"  
Again, Russia let out a cruel childish chuckle, "Because, Gil-" He spoke the shortened name with an edge in his voice that was unnerving, "since you tried to kill me, I have decided to take what I want. And I have always wanted you."

Without any warning, he lunged across the entire length of the seat. Both of his hands went to the albino's face, the palms pressed firmly against the white skin. Before Prussia could comprehend what was happening, Russia slammed their lips together. The kiss was hard and frighteningly passionate. Russia's lips moved with a graceless frenzy. Prussia attempted to resist, but he could feel himself slowly acquiescing to the kiss. In a desperate attempt to stop this moment, he bit down on the other's lip. Russia, in retaliation bit down on the albino's lower lip much harder than Prussia had bit him. The taste of blood flooded his mouth. The albino recoiled as far as he could. The pain in his lip was throbbing and the iron-salt taste was overwhelming his tongue. He felt a drop of blood from his lip roll down his chin.

Russia smirked and then moved his hands to the other's shoulders and pushed. Prussia's back hit the seat and he was suddenly looking up at Russia, who was towering over him like a giant, a smile painted across his face. He seemed to be enjoying having complete dominance. He leaned forward and said, "Make your choices more carefully, or I will spill far more of your blood."

Prussia immediately spat back, "Do you think I will submit to your perversions?" He should have expected the slap, but it surprised him when the pain singed across his cheek. The albino's neck snapped to the side, his gaze forcefully turned away from Russia.  
The other's voice filled his ears, "You shouldn't object. I heard about the sick things you did with Austria's body during the war, what you let him do with yours. I deserve my share, don't you think?"

Russia's hands traveled with cool assertiveness over Prussia's thighs and then his chest. Prussia fixed his eyes on the other's face, attempting to distract himself from the hands freely roaming his body. The expression on Russia's face was a mix of focus and deeper fascination. His hands continued to move. They came to rest on the collar of the albino's uniform. A cruel smirk curled across the Russian's face as he said, "You've always been selfish, but now I'm going to teach you to satisfy my desires. I'm going to make you submit."

With a single motion, he tore open the front of the uniform. The metal buttons sprayed across the back seat, breaking off of the uniform and flying in every direction. Only the thin white fabric of the undershirt now was the only thing separating them. Russia then turned his strength to the flimsy barrier. The undershirt tore like paper beneath his strong hands. Prussia was breathing through his teeth, attempting to hold back the spiteful words he wanted to spew out. That would only make the situation worse. His pride was screaming at him to stop this only becoming more painfully attractive as he became more domineering. But, there was nothing he could do to change the situation but stop himself from saying anything stupid.

The Russian ran his hands over the newly exposed chest. His touch was surprisingly soft, even tender. But, the words that came next revealed the intentions, "You have such pretty white skin, Gil. I thought you would have more scars. I will have to give you some as reminders of who you belong to." The masochistic desires running in circles around Prussia's head all seemed to merge into one. Being marked permanently as a sign of ownership sounded so appealing, and yet so wrong. But, he couldn't let Russia know that. The other, completely oblivious to Prussia's internal wrestling, leaned forward and ran his tongue along the albino's collarbone. The touch was warm, but the trail of moisture it left chilled in the air. A shiver ran over Prussia's skin, goose bumps erupted over his skin.

The reaction did not go unnoticed. Russia whispered in the other's ear, "Oh, are you cold? The cold is part of me. You'll get used to it eventually." He paused before adding; "Maybe even learn to crave it with time." His hands roamed openly across the exposed white chest, getting more aggressive.  
Prussia lost his ability to stay completely mute and spat back, "Fuck you!"

He got a laugh in response. Russia put his finger gently to the albino's lips, immediately silencing the man. He smiled in a way that was almost mockingly sweet, "Not a word from you. I only want you to make noise for me when I make you." He then returned his mouth to the task of traveling the length of the white collarbone; finally his cold, soft lips touched the hollow where the shoulder met the neck. With deliberate slowness, Russia started to suck on the skin, moving his tongue languidly over the surface. Prussia tried to hold back the noises of pleasure that bubbled up in his throat. The slow erotic touch was making him remember all of his half-baked fantasies, his daydreams. Everything that he had repressed because of the stigma of the Soviet Union came surging to the surface.

A tiny moan escaped Prussia's lips, and it was enough to trigger an escalation. The Russian's teeth sunk into the flesh of Prussia's neck. It hurt in the sweetest possible way, the kind of pain that only a masochist could long for. The albino's hands curled into tight fists as he attempted to repress what he was feeling, he could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. The masochistic kick only got more intense as the pain intensified. His lips slipped open and a breathy moan shook through his frame. Russia released him long enough to speak tauntingly, "I thought you, of all people, wouldn't give in so easily. I've barely started."

Prussia attempted to buck his hips, the only real move he could make to get out. But all it resulted in was Russia falling forward and effectively closing the gap between them. He smirked and put one hand to Prussia's face, "Oh, Gil, if you wanted to be closer you just needed to say so." He closed the distance between them and licked up the trail of blood down Prussia's chin, ending in his lips. Their lips connected again with violent passion. Russia's touch had only gotten hungrier. His lips pried open Prussia's, although the albino was not resisting as strongly as he thought he was. As Russia's tongue invaded his mouth, Prussia couldn't bring himself to bite down again. However, it wasn't because he feared more retribution. The bite had actually been thrilling and the remaining throbbing was not unpleasant.

Slowly, Russia pulled back, sucking on the injured lip as he did so. His violet gaze had not lessened in intensity, but it had softened. Prussia realized that he was submitting, and he didn't want it to become obvious. He grimaced and attempted to wriggle his way out of the Russian's grasp. This was exactly the wrong move. Russia then grabbed a handful of white hair and jerked Prussia's head back. The strain was painful on the neck. Russia hissed, "Don't try to get out of this. I won't be denied what I am entitled to." He continued in Prussia's ear, "I gave so much for your war. My people, my land. All I want for recompense is to be able to defile your body." Prussia felt the other's hands move once again over his chest as he heard, "Your beautiful, noble body. Why shouldn't it be mine to use?" Russia's eyes were now alight with manic fire, his breaths coming hot and heavy.

Prussia growled back, lying to hide how aroused he was really feeling, "I don't owe you anything! You're a communist and a Slav, everything about you is detestable." He knew the words would anger Russia, but that was exactly what he wanted. Deep inside, his mind was reeling. The repeating, caustic thought whispered to him how good it would feel to just let Russia pound into him, deep and rough with no preparation at all. Painful and passionate.

He expected his comment to earn him another slap, but instead Russia slowly leaned back, smiled, and said, "Well, then I will take great pleasure in making you one of those things." His hands trailed down Prussia's sides, languidly taking in the smooth flesh. He licked his lips and continued talking, "Making you what I am." Prussia felt a shiver of excitement pass over his skin, which was strange considering how hot it was in the cramped back seat. The masochistic fantasies were taking over, and Prussia couldn't stop them. It only intensified when Russia unbuttoned the albino's pants. The Russian was still talking, still gloating, "And you will beg for it before this is all over."

The only response Prussia could come up with was, "Never."  
The other laughed, "Really, Gil?" One of his hands slipped into the newly unbuttoned pants, and his touch was aggressive. The albino felt himself arch as a wave of pleasure hit him. He didn't want to be reacting, but he couldn't help himself. Not yet satisfied, Russia leaned down and put his lips to Prussia's nipple. He didn't bother to even start gently, immediately he was using his teeth against the sensitive skin. Another unbidden breathy moan escaped Prussia's parted lips. If he had been thinking rationally, he would have regretted the noise, but he wasn't thinking. The overwhelming sensation stretched on for an eternity. Prussia wished he could forget who was doing this to him, but it was in the forefront of his mind that it was Russia's deft hand stroking him so roughly. After the first sound, groans and whimpers sounded freely.

Prussia was finally broken out of his revelry by Russia pulling away. He was strong enough to not immediately ask for Russia to continue. As his head cleared, Prussia realized that the car had stopped moving. They must have reached their destination, wherever that was. Russia smiled slightly and said, "You look disappointed. Did I excite you?"

Prussia took a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself before responding, "That was nothing."  
He sounded convincing, but Russia only moved closer and said, "You're absolutely right. That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you." With that ominous message and a smile, Russia opened the door of the car and disappeared.

Prussia, now left on his own, felt the weight of what he had just done crashing down on him. He had lost control and let out his depraved desires. In the solitude, he breathed heavily. He could still feel Russia's hands on him, could still feel the ghost of lips against his nipple. But he exhaled slowly, trying to regain his discipline. He closed his eyes and continued to breath deeply, choosing to be calm. He need only remind himself of what he did this for. Germany was safe, and that was all that mattered. Prussia slowly reopened his eyes to the monotonous sight of the dark roof of the car. He told himself that this was going to be the last time he let Russia get the better of him, and he actually wished he could believe it.

The door by his head opened. Prussia saw a blur of movement and felt a cloth pressed to his face. The searing smell of chloroform filled his nose and mouth. His vision blurred. Prussia made a half-hearted attempt to fight back. But, within minutes his consciousness was completely extinguished.


	4. Chapter 4

The first feeling Prussia became aware of was something tight around both his wrists. He then realized that his hands were bound to something that was level with his head. Slowly he opened his eyes. He was immediately blinded by the brightness. Either the lights in the room were exceptionally bright, or he had been drugged with something other than chloroform that was still affecting him.

Slowly, the mass of white faded into discernable shapes. First, Prussia realized that what he was tied to was a bed and his hands were secured to the bedposts by leather cuffs attached to a chain that went through a pulley on the side of the bedposts and was then bolted to the floor. Prussia's head was still spinning, the drug was making the world blur and shift in ways that could not be normal. He could feel the cold air against his skin, which told him that his torso was completely exposed. Everything around him was still too difficult to make out until a towering shape stepped toward him.

Russia didn't speak at first; he instead took a few more steps over, "Good morning, Gil." He leaned forward and kissed the albino on the lips. Prussia wanted to resist, but he was surprised that he couldn't muster the strength to actively resist. The kiss was short, but there was a surprising amount of passion in it. When he pulled away, Russia smirked and said, "You aren't resisting very hard."

Prussia immediately responded, quick to make it clear that he wasn't enjoying this, "What did you drug me with? It still hasn't worn off." The statement was meant to sound aggressive, assertive, but his voice sounded like it was struggling to escape his throat.  
Russia's expression didn't shift, but there was a laugh in his voice when he said, "So you're still weak? That's just perfect." He put both of his hands on the other's bare waist. The drug strangely magnified the feeling of leather gloves against skin. Prussia let out a shaky exhale, an almost involuntary reaction to the contact. Russia smile widened, "Weak and reactive, that's even better." He moved his hands up the albino's body, leather gliding against skin. Russia continued talking, "If I fucked you now, I doubt you would even try to stop me."

Prussia became suddenly aware of how close together they were. Their faces were only inches apart. He responded to what had been a speculative statement, "I would fight you." Again, his words didn't seem to have any effect.  
Russia continued to smirk and said, "That isn't what your body is telling me. But pleasure isn't what I planned for you today." He leaned back and Prussia's perception of him blurred, but only for a moment.

Then Russia stood up and walked away. Prussia could no longer make out his captor clearly. Still, he said, attempting bravery, "Where are we? Tell me!" It was not much for bravado, but it was the best he could muster.  
Russia laughed as he walked closer again, this time carrying a tray, "That's not important right now. You might as well think of it as purgatory, you don't get out until you suffer for your sins." The Russian sat down on the bed again, setting the tray down on a table beside him. He then put his hand under the other's chin, adding as he did so, "And you have a lot of sins to pay for, Nazi."

Prussia surreptitiously pulled at his restraints to test how strong they really were. He got very little movement. He should have expected as much, Russia had been methodical in putting this together. Reluctantly, he looked over at the tray that Russia had brought into his field of view. Arrayed on it were a series of long silver needles, Prussia couldn't quite figure out what they were for, but he was certain it was painful. Russia's voice called Prussia's attention back to his captor, "Pay attention to me, Gil." The albino turned his eyes back to the Russian and he tried to tell himself that he wasn't being obedient. Russia started speaking, apparently he had already scripted this part of the encounter. "Now, pay attention, this is important. "

He paused for only a moment before saying, "Most of the nerve endings in the human body are located in the first couple layers of the skin. Which makes the shallowest cuts the most painful." As he spoke, he ran his hands over the exposed white chest, and the tingling the touch left in the skin only proved his point. Again, he paused and a sadistic smile slowly appeared on his face, "I always heard that Prussian military training created unshakable discipline. Let's see how much you can really take before you break."

Prussia gritted his teeth, trying to brace himself for whatever was coming. His own imagination could come up with at least a dozen options for those needles and his body, each exquisitely painful. But, Russia didn't keep him in suspense much longer. He reached over and took a needle from the tray, and swiftly sunk it into the flesh of Prussia's chest so that the tip went into the skin and then out again. The end result was the needle threaded under the skin. Having skin pierced understandably hurt, but the needle was small and the pain was well within Prussia's tolerance. He couldn't help himself from making a biting comment, "Is that really all you have?"

Russia's icy smile immediately told him he was wrong. The skin around the needle began to feel oddly warm. Russia ran his finger over the needle and said, "It's worse than you think. You'll see soon." The warmth was slowly turning into pain, not intense pain, but enough to be noticeable. Without thinking, the albino grimaced. It didn't go unnoticed. Russia replied to it, "So you've noticed. The metal is coated with an acid. It won't actually burn your skin, but it will feel like it is. The longer I leave it, the more it will hurt."

Even as he spoke, the pain intensified. Prussia refused to show any more reaction. He had done enough to feed Russia's sadism already. However, the Russian simply reached over and grabbed another needle. This one he threaded under the skin right next to the first with deliberate slowness. Prussia let out a long breath through his nose; it was an involuntary reaction to the pain. As this one slipped beneath the skin, the sting of the other only worsened. But, Prussia wouldn't allow himself to make any noise.

In complete silence, Russia took another needle, this one larger in diameter, and sunk it into the flesh. Again, Prussia refused to react, but the pain was only getting worse. He curled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the wounds he had made earlier. But still, he would not groan knowing that was exactly what Russia wanted. Even with the pain coursing through his chest, he wouldn't admit it.

Almost spitefully, Russia inserted the next two needles simultaneously. Both were larger than the last, and they brought more pain with them. This time it required clenching his jaw to make it impossible to scream or make a noise. His hands were shaking in the restraints, making the chains rattle against the bedposts. To feed his determination, Prussia looked straight at Russia. He could see that the other was breathing heavily. Was it possible that this was turning Russia on? The Russian spoke, his words not sounding as controlled as when he started, "That's five. I know that it's agonizing for you. Just say the word and it will stop."

Prussia unclenched his jaw, and in doing so realized how hard he had been working to keep it closed, to say, "And tell me-" He had to stop to suck in a breath to stop himself from letting a whimper be heard in his voice. But, mustering all his strength, he continued, "what am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to beg?" He paused again to make sure his voice continued to be strong when he finished, "Didn't anyone tell you that I'm not the begging type?"

Russia grabbed a hold of Prussia's chin, his fingers pressing against the sore muscles. His violet eyes fixed on the other's red and he spoke, "You will beg and call me 'master'. Eventually, you will."  
Prussia spat back, "Don't project your sick fantasies onto me." The pain was coursing through his chest, emanating from where the needles were imbedded in his chest. But, Prussia wouldn't allow himself to cave. He wouldn't give Russia the satisfaction of seeing him actually suffer.

Russia leaned back slightly and said, "I'm impressed. I know how much pain you're in, but you aren't showing any of it." He then smirked coldly as he continued, "But that only means I'm going to have to increase the pain." He grabbed another needle, this one thicker than any of the ones that had preceded it. A quick glance at the tray revealed that there were still at least 10 needles left, each increasing in diameter. The largest appeared to be several centimeters thick; it would be like getting stabbed with a thin blade. However, the last two were quite thin again. Prussia could only guess at what those were for.

Russia slowly slid the needle he was holding under a new area of skin, this time lower on the chest. At the moment, Russia was still avoiding the albino's nipples, which were the most sensitive areas. As this needle was fully inserted, another surge of pain hit Prussia. It took all his concentration to stop himself from making a noise. Russia ran his finger over the skin, pressing the nerves even more firmly against the metal. As he did so he leaned closer and whispered, "That's six. You won't make it to ten without screaming for me."  
Prussia kept his response short to mask the whine of pain that was slipping into his voice, "I will."

The other laughed under his breath as he reached over and grabbed yet another needle. But, this one he did not insert right away. Instead, he spoke again, gloating this time, "You are a challenge. So disciplined, so resolute." He touched the end of the needle to his finger, holding it between his fingers for a moment. Prussia now couldn't risk talking. The acid was circulating through his blood. His entire chest felt like it was burning, not just the areas around the needles. Prussia could feel his heart pounding, each beat sending waves of hot searing pain through his skin. He didn't want to admit it, but Russia might be right; he couldn't hold out for another four without making a noise. The little bouts of banter had been a clever ploy to draw out the time so the acid could intensify.

Russia took the needle currently in his hand and ran it down the middle of the albino's chest, leaving a superficial scratch. But, the pain was inordinate. Gilbert hissed before he could stop himself. It was a small sound, but it was enough. A satisfied smile appeared on Russia's face. He said, "I do believe that was a crack in your composure." His smile widened as he pushed the needle into the white flesh. Prussia stifled a groan, but a grimace of pain flashed across his face. Russia spoke again, "You'll feel better if you let it out."

Prussia couldn't stop himself from responding, "No, it will feel better for-" As he spoke, Russia pushed another needle under his skin. Prussia let out a short cry, unable to clamp his jaw closed in time to stop himself. As soon as the initial pain wore off, Prussia again returned to silence, now aware of what he had given up.  
But, he wasn't going to be able to forget it; Russia immediately said, "That sounded even sexier than I expected." Even with the trick he had just fallen for, Prussia had to speak, "That wasn't fair."

Russia's smirk disappeared as he said, "Well you would know about being unfair. You did shoot me when my back was turned." The albino refused to accept that, even if the other had a valid point. He had betrayed a pact, but it had not been completely dishonorable.  
He corrected, "I waited until we were face to face to shoot. I will not shoot a man in the back." Russia scoffed, "A difference of semantics. You lied to me. You betrayed me. So, why should I act fairly to you?"

In the middle of this sentence, he grabbed another needle. At the sight, an involuntary tremor passed through Prussia. It was as if his nerves, completely independent of conscious thought, reacted to the idea of having more strain inflicted upon them. The ninth needle, only one more before Prussia could say he had beaten Russia. But, he was weakening and he knew it. It wasn't the needles, those would be bearable on their own; it was the acid, which felt like it was eating through his pale flesh and leaving the muscle beneath red and raw. Yet, Prussia knew that if he looked down at his own skin he would see nothing but slight inflammation and redness.

As Russia inserted this needle so slowly that it felt like every inch took a minute, Prussia felt his chest heaving as he attempted to pull in breaths through his teeth. When he finished, Russia smirked and said, "You're never going to make it. Just give in, it will be easier."  
With his teeth still clenched, the albino responded between heaving breaths, "You only have so many needles."  
Russia laughed, "Just so you know, the last two go through your nipples if you make it that far without begging for me to stop."

Then, with another sadistic self-pleased smile, he plunged the ninth needle into what little open space was left on Prussia's chest. Prussia could feel the individual fibers of his flesh being torn apart by the intruding tip of the needle, and every one of them felt like the deep cutting of a knife. This time it was impossible to hold back at least a groan. The sound was low and relatively quiet, but it sounded like surrender in the absolute silence. Prussia didn't register that Russia had leaned forward until he heard the other whisper in his ear, "So that's what you sound like when you're succumbing."

He was far past being able to speak without letting out a plethora of pained noises, or else Prussia would have said something, insisted that he wasn't giving in. He simply shook his head in an attempt to convey what he was thinking. One more needle pierced through his skin, and the pain was blinding. But, Prussia only let out a low controlled groan again. Russia spoke, once again commenting on the progress, "That's ten."

Mustering all of his self control, Prussia said back, "And did you hear-" His voice faltered and he was forced to try and compose himself before continuing, "me scream?" It was supposed to be an assertion of his resistance, but Prussia's voice was shaking. Russia took it as a challenge. He reached over the couple thick needles to the remaining thin two thin ones. Russia didn't need to say what he was going to do with them, but he did all the same, "I guess I'll have to skip straight to this if I want you to scream."

Prussia glanced down at his own nipples with trepidation. To his surprise, Russia leaned down and put his mouth to the albino's nipple. The soft sucking infused pleasure into the pain, which was horribly confusing for a masochist. It was exactly what he had fantasized about for so long, and yet it felt both better and worse than he imagined. Russia then released the nipple and then blew on it. The cold air across the wet skin excited the nipple, which was almost instantly pert. Suddenly this shift to affection made sense, frighteningly so.

Russia took one of the thin needles, and without flinching pierced all the way through the nipple. Prussia closed his eyes and threw back his head in a full-throated scream. The pain overwhelmed his senses. He pulled the chains completely taught, his hands turned even whiter as they clenched tight. His toes curled. It was surrender, and Prussia knew it. But, he couldn't withstand this anymore.

He felt the soft touch of lips against his own, and in the midst of the sensation, he didn't think enough to stop his lips from moving to mold against Russia's. Prussia felt the needle slide out of the flesh of his nipple. He opened his eyes and looked at the other, who was now right above him, questioningly. There was no reason for this reprieve. But it was explained with a single breathless phrase, "Good boy."

Russia dropped the newly removed needle on the tray. But, it seemed that Prussia wasn't the only one whose self-control had disappeared. Russia leaned in again and connected their lips again, his lack of restraint evident in the force and the roughness. As they kissed, Prussia could feel needles being pulled haphazardly out of his chest. If this was reward or simply convenience was impossible to determine, but it came as a relief all the same. For a couple minutes, the only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of needles hitting the tray and the soft moans that Prussia made every time a needle came out of his chest.

Once all ten needles were gone, Russia pulled out of the kiss. Slowly Prussia opened his eyes and looked straight into the other's. The violet depths were filled with confusion, but it was only momentary. He leaned in and said, the excitement clear in every syllable, "Do you want this?" Prussia knew he should have said no, turned Russia away. He focused all of the disparate pieces of his will on saying no. He formed the word in his mind, but when he opened his mouth, the word that he uttered was a single hoarse, "Yes."

That single admission was enough; the game of cat and mouse was over. Russia grabbed Prussia's pants and removed them quickly. As he worked, he started to kiss down the other's white neck, which elicited short moans. Prussia's body was still burning from the torture it had just endured, but this mix of pain and pleasure was amazingly stimulating.

He didn't even notice that Russia had unzipped his own pants until he felt a finger, slick and wet, pushing into him. Prussia's mind was failing to perceive important facts, like the fact that Russia must have taken off a glove and sucked on his fingers. The Russian didn't have the patience to actually prepare the albino properly. He inserted two more fingers quickly. Prussia groaned at the speed, it wasn't painful yet, but it was an unpleasant stretch. Then, without hesitation, Russia removed his fingers and sheathed himself entirely in the other.

Prussia cried out, but it was only instinctual. Compared to the pain still pounding through his chest, this was not even noticeable. He glanced at Russia's face, and was genuinely surprised by the expression. Russia's eyes were half-closed and he was breathing very heavily. It was a look of pure pleasure. Slowly, Russia leaned in and kissed Prussia again, this time much more softly. Prussia could almost feel a slight tremble in the other's lips.

Slowly, almost gently, Russia moved. The first thrust was slow, which was exactly the opposite of what Prussia was really craving. Now that he was giving into his repressed sexual desires, he wanted to be pounded into hard and fast. This gentleness was not what he wanted from Russia. The next few thrusts came at the same slow pace. In frustration, Prussia cried out, "Go faster."

Again, a look of confusion flashed across Russia's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk. Immediately, he sped up. This speed, at least, created enough friction to make Prussia moan as small waves of pleasure hit him. But, even with this, and the other now kissing his neck again, it wasn't enough. Russia freed his mouth to lean in and say, "Is that better?"  
The albino responded with a frustrated growl, "Harder."

Something seemed to break behind the violet eyes and the smirk turned into a look of determination. He grabbed both of Prussia's hips in his big hands, fingers digging into the flesh. He shifted his aim and slammed himself fully into Prussia. He hit the albino's prostate straight on. A jolt of pleasure shot up Prussia's spine, making every nerve in his body sing, making him see dancing sparks. His body arched, pressing his chest against the Russian's. The skin was still incredibly sensitive from being pierced with needles. The pain mixed with the, now overwhelming pleasure, in a magnified combined sensation.

Now that he had found the right spot, Russia was ruthless in his pace. He hit the prostate over and over again as the albino writhed and moaned shamelessly beneath him. The words spilled freely from the German's lips, "Yes, yes, Ivan, so good." The chains creaked as Prussia pulled against them. Already abused and over stimulated, Prussia knew that he couldn't last much longer. All the same, the idea of outlasting Russia, even while the other was being completely dominant, was very appealing.

But, even as this thought crossed his pleasure-addled brain, Russia bit down into the soft flesh of the other's neck. This last piece of sensation was too much. White filled Prussia's vision and he came with one more hoarse scream. It only took a few more uncoordinated thrusts before Russia came as well. He was breathing very heavily, obviously exhausted. Prussia noticed that there was blood all over the Russian's chest. It took him a moment to realize that it was his blood from the wounds in his chest, which had been pressed hard against Russia.

Exhaustion now washed over Prussia. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, and the position felt far better than keeping them closed. Russia whispered one last time, "Go to sleep, Gil. You've been quite the experience and you deserve the rest." The feeling of his weight on the bed disappeared. Once he was alone again, Prussia drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Prussia looked at the young man who has lying on a low bench in the garden and a smile curled across his lips. The man was dressed in the traditional trappings of the aristocracy, but he gave them a lazy elegance that his father lacked. His arm was thrown across his eyes in what appeared to be an attempt to block out the midday sun that was filtering down through the un-pruned trees. It would be a perfect picture of sophisticated grace if not for the red marks across his wrists, which had come from the shackles his father had placed him in. Seeing the marks made Prussia feel like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out. He was supposed to agree with his king, the one who had transformed him into a military country, but seeing the pain made him side with the Crown Prince.

He finally spoke, "One really shouldn't fall asleep here."  
Friedrich smiled slightly and said softly, "Shhh…the crown prince is trying to sleep."  
Prussia came up with a response, "He won't be sleeping when his father walks by."

The young man suddenly sat bolt upright and looked around frantically. Prussia knew he would get this reaction, which was exactly the point. He had wanted to get the young prince's attention and he now had it. After realizing that his father was actually near, the prince relaxed. But it was short lived. His temper reignited and he turned on Prussia, "That wasn't fair, Gilbert!"

The albino laughed under his breath and responded light heartedly, "I needed you to listen to me, and mentioning your father tends to get a reaction out of you." The mortal scoffed and swung his legs back off the bench so that he was sitting straight up. Prussia sat down next to him, and stole another glance at the welts on the young man's wrists. He still felt bad about it, especially considering he had known about the escape plan beforehand.

Friedrich caught him looking and said, "It wasn't your fault. My brother was the one who told." Prussia nodded, but that didn't convince himself that it alleviated his own feeling of guilt.  
Anxious to change the subject, Prussia said, "I know your father got rid of everything he doesn't approve of."

The other quickly said, his temper obviously still inflamed, "He had no right to get rid of all my books." Prussia had been trying to steer the conversation, and now gave up on all attempts to get to his point with tact.  
He said, as he revealed the instrument he had brought with him, "I can't replace those, but I thought you might like a new one of these."

He extended the flute to the other man. Friedrich looked at it and his face broke into a smile. He took the finely carved flute and said, "This is beautiful." He stopped and looked directly at his country and added, "Why would you do this for me? Your king doesn't approve."  
Prussia was quick to reply, as honestly as he could, "He won't always be my king. Besides, you play very well."

He knew he wasn't being entirely truthful though. He wanted to see Friedrich happy again. He wasn't certain why, but the man's happiness seemed very important. Prussia was quick to add, "And be sure to hide it well. Even I can't convince your father to let you play."

The other smiled, but it was clear that there was very little mirth beneath it, "I don't think that my music is what my father most object to." The look in his eyes indicated exactly what he was talking about. Prussia knew that Friedrich's friend, and potential lover, had been executed in front of him. No words would come to him to offer comfort. So, awkwardly he said, "I am sorry. But at least now the temptation is gone."

It wasn't an eloquent answer. It wasn't even particularly tactful, but it was the best that Prussia could do. The other fixed his eyes directly and said, "No, it isn't." Prussia suddenly became very aware of the fact that the mortal's hand was right on top of his own on the bench between them. As he glanced down at it, the hand tightened. The albino looked back up at Friedrich. The mortal's eyes were searching for a response, hoping for an acceptance. Prussia knew on a rational level that he couldn't agree to this; his king would never let him. But, the warm feeling blossoming in his chest couldn't be ignored. Seeing that there was no resistance to this action yet, Friedrich said, "You're a good person and you deserve better than my father as a king."

The scene shifted suddenly and the time was several centuries later. The place was also different. He was now in the middle of Berlin, looking up at a statue that didn't do justice to the glory of the man it was based on. But still, the face was familiar, as was the confident posture astride the horse. Prussia felt a distinct heaviness in his heart looking up at it. He remembered when the man had been flesh, warm and comforting. It had been at least a century since the mortal had died, and yet the feelings still felt fresh.

Not caring who was listening, he spoke, "You were wrong about me, Fritz." He paused and looked down at the gun in his hand; loaded with bullets meant for a man he had made a treaty with. It was a treacherous object. Breaking a non-aggression pact was underhanded, even by the standards of European politics. And the most painful part of this was that Prussia knew that Russia had trusted him because of his reputation for honor. Still looking down at the gun, he finished the thought, "I'm not a good person."

No one who could be considered good would ever do what he was preparing himself to do. He couldn't go back now though. He had chosen this path, this ideology. There was no way to throw down the gun and walk away, even if he wanted to. He looked back up, half hoping to find guidance and compassion in the stern old features the way he had done when he was alive. But, the stone remained unchanging and impassive.

Prussia spoke again, "You wouldn't approve of what I'm about to do." He clenched his teeth, trying to steady himself. There was a tumult of feelings warring in his chest. As he continued, he spoke more to himself than to the statue, "But why should I care? This isn't is the first country I've killed."

Dizzyingly, the scene shifted again. Prussia stopped his horse as he caught sight of a familiar black hat lying abandoned on the field of battle. His dismounted and his boots sunk into the deep, soft mud. The suction of the wet earth attempted to keep Prussia in place. But that didn't matter. There was a far larger problem.

The light caught blonde hair in the black of the earth. The albino took a couple steps before he was standing over the body, obviously pale and bloodless. He fell to his knees and in desperation, wrapped both of his arms around the small body. Tears stung the albino's eyes, as he looked at the body of a country, his brother, cradled in his arms.

The sword had pierced through the boy's chest and red was now staining the black fabric around it. Prussia put his hand to the blonde's cheek and felt that the flesh had gone cold. There was no mistaking it; this was the end of an empire, the death of a country. A wave of guilt overtook Prussia. How could he have been so late? How could he let this happen? He should have stood between France and his brother. He had only thought about himself, about how he could defeat Napoleon on his own. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting through the usual residue of battle. This was his fault.

He spoke his emotions, his voice cracking as he did so, "I'm sorry. I failed you, little brother. If I only had one more chance-" A single sob shook his whole body and stopped him from speaking. But he was not done. As soon as his vocal chords were free of the sob, he continued, "I would be better. I swear I would. I wouldn't-" Yet another sob shook him, this one more intense than the last one. But, Prussia needed to finish this sentence, it was crucial that he could say it, "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

Prussia opened his eyes and found himself still tied to the bed, although the chains felt loser than before. Without even moving, he could tell that his entire body was sore and aching, especially his chest. He could still feel the ghosts of the needles in his flesh. Slowly, he looked around, finally able to see the entirety of the room. It was a large room, painted completely white. Even the door on the other end of the room was only distinguishable because there was a pair of hinges visible. There was minimal furniture around the room, but the pieces that were in the room were very plain and heavy looking. Clearly, this was meant to serve as sensory deprivation.

He wrapped his hands around the chains attached to his cuffs and pulled himself into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. The shift in position sent a spike of pain through his lower back, stemming from his sore butt. The albino let out a small groan at the pain. He closed his eyes again, remembering what he had done the night before to cause that pain. What terrible lapse of judgment could have led him to give his body over so easily? The memories were saturated in pain and a drugged haze, the rational clarity completely gone. What was clear was the sensation, which was all too sharp.

Prussia bit into his lower lip as the poisonous thought passed that the sex had been so much better than he anticipated. In doing so, he was quickly reminded that his lip was still injured from Russia's bite. That was a bitter reminder that he had given in to his dark masochistic fantasies. In frustration at his lack of self-control, Prussia banged the back of his head against the headboard.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that." Prussia opened his eyes to see Russia standing at the end of the bed, an ironically concerned look on his face.  
The German responded, his voice cracking slightly from the strain it had endured the night before, "Why would you care?" Russia took a step forward, around the bed and put his hand on the white bedding.  
He said, "My dear, you don't understand. I want your pain to have a purpose."

He walked still closer, trailing his hand along the bed. Once he was close enough, he sat on the bed. Prussia knew he should recoil away from Russia, but that would be admitting weakness. Instead, he barely reacted when Russia put his hand on his thigh. The other wasn't paying attention. He reached over and grabbed a glass of clear liquid from the table where the tray of needles had been the night before. Wordlessly, Russia offered it to the albino. But, Prussia was not that much of a fool. He said, incredulous, "Do you think you can get me to take poison just because you offer it?"

Russia scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous. After how much I did to get you, I wouldn't poison you. It's just water. You sweated, bled, and came last night, so you've lost a lot of water." Reluctantly, Prussia allowed himself to see the logic. His head was aching and that could very easily be due to dehydration. Slowly, he nodded and allowed Russia to put the glass to his lips. The water was cold and phenomenally refreshing. Prussia hadn't noticed how dry his throat was until he swallowed the first mouthful of water. The thirst was burning, demanding to be satiated. He took deep gulps of water; a single drop escaped and ran down his chin.

The glass was pulled away when it was empty. Prussia licked his lips. The thirst wasn't quenched, but this was an obvious ploy. Russia wanted him to ask for more, and Prussia refused to do it. A tiny shift in Russia's expression made it perfectly clear that he was amused. Without a word, he placed the glass on the table and grabbed a cloth. Before speaking again, Russia took the cloth and pressed it to the place where the first needle had pierced Prussia's chest. The albino involuntarily hissed, the flesh was still sensitive from the torture. Russia responded to it, "That still hurts, doesn't it? I can make it better."

Prussia looked up into the other's eyes and saw something almost tender in the violet depths. The initial contact had been rough, but the cloth then moved, cleaning the blood, and was surprisingly gentle. Prussia said, wishing as he did so that his voice didn't sound so strained, "I don't want your pity. They're just superficial wounds." The other simply smiled and continued cleaning the albino's chest.

Frustrated by the silence, Prussia said, "Why are you doing this?" He was referring to the strange change from aggression to what almost felt like compassion.  
Russia replied with the same smile, "I made this mess, so I'm cleaning it up." His tone was so unreadable that Prussia wondered if it was serious or not.

He responded, "That's not the reason. What do you really want?" Russia finished with the task of cleaning the blood off Prussia's chest and then he noticed that there were trails of blood down the albino's wrists, ending at the cuffs. Prussia hadn't noticed it until he followed Russia's gaze to his own wrists. The blood must have come from the wounds inflicted by his nails digging into his own flesh as he had clenched his hands into fists. Russia, completely ignoring the albino's question, removed a small key from his pocket and then hesitated. Prussia's heart leapt in his chest at the sight of the key. It could let his aching arms free.

Russia confirmed this when he said, looking directly at the other, "Are you going to behave yourself?" Now didn't seem to be the time to fight back, so Prussia nodded. The gesture was more revocable than a verbal conformation, which felt too much like submission. This was still enough to satisfy Russia, who used the key to unlock the chain on Prussia's right hand; the cuff remained in place. The albino noted that his non-dominant hand had been released. It was a deliberate choice that still showed lack of trust. With his left hand still confined, there was little he could do to fight back.

Russia took the unbound hand and slowly eased open the fist. As the fingers straightened, they revealed four deep crescent-shaped wounds across the palm. A smirk flashed across the Russian's face, "What have you done to yourself?" The other clenched his jaw, refusing to answer. His jaw muscles immediately complained, already sore from the night before. This didn't seem to bother Russia, who started to run the cloth over the albino's palm. Then he leaned closer and said, his voice completely filling Prussia's ears, "What were you repressing?"

He brushed his lips softly against the other's, adding as he did so in a voice like poisonous honey, "Was it this?" Prussia felt a flush mount his cheeks, completely independent of his control. He knew that the attraction he felt had been part of this, but he couldn't allow Russia to actually knew it. The depraved creature in the back of his head told him to take the Russian's lips in his own, to whine and moan against those soft, skillful lips, and to finally be taken again hard and fast. It took a lot of effort to push down the craving, especially now that he knew what it felt like to have Russia inside of him. The sex would be even better now with his body already aching. He took a deep breath and said shortly, "No."

Russia smirked, "Really, Gil? I tasted hunger on your lips. Are you starving for me?" Prussia looked into the other's eyes and was struck by the hypnotizing shades of violet shifting in the depths of the eyes.  
He said, struggling to find the right words, "You have no idea what I want." The other's smirk only widened, as though he could hear the weakness behind the words. His voice still soft, almost irresistible, he said, "We don't have to be enemies." He took Prussia's hand, which he had long since finished cleaning, and put it to his own face. The skin was surprisingly soft to the touch. Russia's thumb stroked the back of Prussia's hand, the leather of his gloves gliding smoothly over the skin. This tender skin on skin contact was confusing. Prussia had been expecting cold, but this was completely different.

It was even worse when Russia said, "I know what you really want, Gilbert. I felt it in the way you reacted last night. I can give you that, you just need to let me." The albino's heart was palpitating in his chest, jump started by his masochistic urges. It couldn't be possible for Russia to know what he was actually offering.

Gathering all his resistance, Prussia spat back, "In exchange for what? I won't be your puppet, you communist bastard." Russia recoiled slightly, but he didn't release the albino's hand yet. Seeing he had struck a blow, Prussia continued, "And it was so satisfying to see you on your knees, shaking and bleeding from my bullet. That's what I want."

Russia's hand clamped shut around Prussia's right wrist, and it a single motion he slammed the hand back onto the headboard. He growled, "Wrong move, Nazi." With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of white hair and yanked it back. The pain that shot through his scalp was actually more comforting to Prussia than the thoughts that had just been swirling through his head. Russia continued talking, "Do you fuck everyone who touches you, whore?"  
The albino responded, even though it may have been wiser not to, "Did you think you were special?"

If possible, Russia's eyes darkened even farther and his grip tightened on the wrist. His voice became strangely calm, which seemed to be the final level of rage, "Do you feel that? That's the strength of a superpower." The Russian leaned in even closer and said, his voice hardened by hate, "And I'm going to use it to break you. Your little show of resistance means nothing."  
Prussia spotted an opportunity and said, "Then why does it frustrate you so much?"

Russia recoiled again, but didn't release his hold. He was genuinely confused by the smile on the albino's face. But the Russian's look of confusion was replaced with a look of determination, "Well, you have chosen then." He stood up, releasing Prussia's right hand as he did so. He smirked and said, "I will be back and I will have something worse than needles." Prussia swallowed his own beating heart as he watched Russia walk away.

His own insolence was bringing another round of torture, which would bring his masochism roaring back. He tipped his head back and stared at the white ceiling. The dizzying cycle of torture and soft caresses was only feeding his deeply taboo craving for Russia. Would it be so terrible to succumb? Prussia already knew the answer. He couldn't cave. He closed his eye and bit his lip, trying not to think about carnal pleasure. Russia could be the perfect master, but Prussia would have to give up all his pride, all his sanity to get it.

Absent-mindedly, Prussia's hand roamed over the sheet. The limb was simply enjoying its new freedom. Among the soft fabric of the sheets, the hand lighted upon something hard. Prussia opened his eyes and looked down. Beneath his hand was a key, the same key that Russia had used to unlock the chains. Prussia's heart started pounding immediately. Only one thought could be associated with this. He had to escape before Russia returned.

Without a second's hesitation, he unlocked his left hand. Then, using his dominant hand, he undid the buckles on the leather cuff around his right wrist. Concentrating fully on freeing himself, he then undid the buckle on his left cuff with his teeth. Only his legs remained bound, which was quickly remedied with the key.

Prussia took a step off the bed and pain immediately shot through his back. He gritted his teeth and summoned the will to stay standing. He was a solider; he should be able to work through this. This may be his only chance at escape, and he wasn't going to waste it. The albino took several shaky steps across the floor, and then ran the rest of the length to the door. Prussia rested his forehead momentarily against the cool white surface of the door, taking deep breathes. Pain was shooting down the back of his legs and the limbs were shaking. He took in one more deep breath before jerking open the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Prussia took the first couple steps up the stairs, his legs shaking, before a realization hit him. He wasn't wearing anything. What had been left of his uniform had been stripped off of him the night before. The thought of escape had overpowered the notion that he was going to be walking through the halls completely naked. But, there was no possibility of going back now. He gritted his teeth and scaled the rest of the stairs.

He burst through the door at the top, making more noise than he intended, and immediately recognized the hallway. This was his own home in Berlin. He could have fallen to his knees in relief at such a familiar place. His mind had been prepared to see the icy planes of Siberia from the windows, to find himself in a prison camp far beyond civilization. This was far easier. He could simply slip out into a city that he was already familiar with. The streets were more familiar to him than they were to Russia. It would be easy for him to exit and keep Russia first he needed to be presentable.

He glanced around, checking for anyone that might be guarding the door. However, it was unlikely that there would be any guards posted. Russia wouldn't anticipate him getting out of the restraints and making it up the stairs, so he wouldn't have wasted the soldiers on this door. The faintest sound echoed through the empty halls, a familiar voice that was not far enough away for comfort. The words were unintelligible, but the voice was clearly Russia's and it had that cold cadence of rage. The sound only confirmed the urgency of Prussia's escape.

He already knew the floor plan, and his old room was just around the corner. Cautious of the sound of his uneven footsteps, Prussia walked across the hall and carefully looked around the corner. The other hallway was completely empty as well. It struck him for a moment as odd that there were so few guards posted. Russia must be busy using soldiers to build up the East German border. Prussia walked over to a door that he knew well and put his hand on the knob. Thankfully, it had not been left locked.

As he practically fell into the room, his legs giving way as he opened the door, a wave of belonging swept him. The floor was smooth beneath his bare knees, worn by centuries of boot steps. Prussia had enough presence of mind to push the door closed from his position on the floor. Constant pain was pounding through Prussia's lower back, butt, and upper legs. It had felt so good to let Russia ravish him, but now he felt like he had been split open.

Allowing himself time to adjust, Prussia looked around the room. He had not been back in this room since before the Second World War and the decorations still showed that. The heavy curtains were still a deep dark blue; the walls were still decorated with the old symbols of Prussian nationalism. On the far wall, there was a portrait of an austere old man, one of the very few that had been painted. A pained smile appeared on the albino's face. He spoke, keeping his voice low so he wasn't heard in the hall, "Fantastic mess I've gotten myself into, isn't it Fritz?" There wasn't even a shadow of humor in his voice. The situation was serious, and he was completely aware of it. But looking at the portrait was making his heart sink.

What he had done the night before had been weak; if he didn't leave now it was only a matter of time before it happened again. Prussia slowly forced himself to stand, using all his determination to block out the pain. His knees were still shaking, but that didn't matter. Heavy footsteps passed through the hallway outside. There was no way to be sure, but Prussia couldn't help but think that the footsteps belonged to Russia, which meant that he was returning with whatever torment he had planned. It was only a matter of time before he realized that Prussia had escaped. There was no time left to stall.

He took several hurried steps over to a chest of drawers, hoping that there was still clothing here. He opened the first drawer and was pleased to see several white shirts, still in perfect order. The second drawer contained pairs of dark pants. Relieved, Prussia let out a sigh as he grabbed one article of clothing from each drawer. Then, urgency still on his mind, he pulled on the pants. They were a little loose around the hips due to weight loss. Prussia pulled a belt tight around his hips to attempt to counteract the weight loss. When he went to pull on the shirt, pain was reignited in his chest. The fabric, which seemed smooth to the touch felt like sandpaper against the skin. Every move was painful. But, there was no time to allow healing or to search for more comfortable clothing. With a moment of insight, he also grabbed a pair of shoes. It wasn't the most respectable wardrobe, but it would have to do for the time being.

He stumbled over to the mirror, which hung in the corner of the room and attempted to gauge how bad he looked. The reflection was shocking. Prussia hadn't looked at himself in months and he had not realized how thin and manic he looked. Dark circles framed his red eyes, his cheeks were not exactly sunken, but the signs of hunger were there. There was still a bruise across his cheek from his capture, which was now turning yellow and green. His white skin made the colors of any bruises all the more apparent. The thought crossed his mind that Russia must have been insane to want him when he looked like this. His hair had not survived being attacked the night before; it was a complete mess. Prussia had no choice but to run his fingers through his hair to make it look somewhat decent.

Morbidly curious, he unbuttoned the top of the shirt and examined his neck and chest. There were a series of red teeth marks on his skin and the dark bruising of hickeys. His chest was peppered with red dots where the needles had entered or exited the flesh. Bruising surrounded each of these. Prussia tried not to think about what the marks really meant about him, about how far he had slipped. These were the marks of a harlot, and that could only mean shame. This room reminded him how noble he had once been, pure and strong. But those days had slipped away, and now he was struggling to stand, attempting to escape his own house.

He took a deep breath, feeling tears attempting to fight their way up. From outside came a shout and the sound of quick, angry orders. Prussia realized that Russia just noticed his absence. There was no time left to contemplate methods, he needed to leave. The fantasy, uninvited, came crashing into his mind. Let Russia find him and throw him to the floor and go another round, letting Russia's skill turn the current pain back to pleasure. Prussia forced the thought further into the back of his mind and then turned to the window, which should be an accessible escape route.

It looked completely unchanged. He quickly walked over to it, his heart palpitating in his chest. Prussia jerked the window open, and it slid open surprisingly easy. As the sound of quick footsteps mounted the stairs at the end of the hall, the albino ducked out the window. He put both feet on the ground and started moving immediately. The movement was awkward due to the pain he was still in, but the pace was decent. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but he needed to get away. The city was all around him, but his options were limited. He had no money or any transport. There was no possibility of stealing a vehicle, because that would be too conspicuous. So, he decided that the only option was to take off between the buildings and into the city.

In the same uneven gate, he made it out. He walked through several back streets, stopping occasionally to catch his breath or lean against a wall to stop his legs from shaking. He didn't remember any march he had ever done being this hard. He was in physical pain, that was true, but his mind was also reeling. He had escaped, but he had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. He had officially agreed to be controlled by the Soviet Union, and he couldn't revoke that just by running away. He couldn't hide within his own territory forever either; Russia would find him eventually. The only option was to temporarily go to his brother and then beg the other allies to change their judgment. It wasn't appealing to think that he was going to prostrate himself in front of France, but he didn't have another option. He must either humble himself to the remaining allies or accept that he was going to cave to Russia and unleash his own darkness.

Judging he was finally far enough away from the house, he turned into a main street. The first thing that struck him was the scale of the damage. He had been captured in an entirely different part of the city and had not seen any of this. What had Russia done to his beautiful city? The old buildings were missing entire pieces; patches of raw stone replaced parts of the facades. It looked like a person who had been cut open, but no one cared to try to stich up the building and return its dignity. The streets were rutted with deep tread tracks from the tanks that had rolled through here. Black residue from gunfire seemed to be clinging to every surface.

Prussia stood stock still in the middle of the sidewalk for a couple minutes trying to take it all in. This city had been so full of life. He remembered the days when he and Fritz had ridden down these streets together, the Linden trees still in bloom. He took a deep breath and swore he could still smell smoke on the air. The sight was enough to tell him that his imperial days were officially ended. Everything he had taken pride in had been destroyed, Dresden was in ruins, and Berlin was shattered.

The wind picked up, whipping around him. It was cold, far colder than he was dressed for. Some part of Russian winter had apparently clung to its country and been brought to rest here. Prussia wrapped his arms around himself to try and suppress a shiver. From here, there was only one option. He had nowhere to go but west. At a reasonable speed, he could reach the border by nightfall. However, he was only walking with a limp through sheer power of will. He didn't physically have the ability to walk any faster. His only hope was to get close enough to the border and improvise from there. He continued walking, trying to keep his gate at least even.

His toe hit a piece of dislodged rubble and he stumbled. For a moment it felt like the entire world was pitching forward, but Prussia was able to right himself. But, taking the simple, instinctual steps to save himself from falling sent a fresh set of pains through his entire body. His knees felt dangerously close to giving way entirely. If he collapsed here, in the middle of the street, it would only be a matter of time before Soviet soldiers found him. He didn't have a safe place to collapse. For the time being, he had to rest, nothing else mattered.

Without considering where exactly he was, he chose a wall to lean up against. The stone against his back at least allowed him to stand. Seeking a couple moments of peace, Prussia closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Pain was pounding through his whole body. Whatever acid Russia had used on him was still in his system, making all his muscles complain about any exertion. Russia had clearly intended for him to not be able to move far. What frustrated him was that Russia was about to succeed; his torture was about to render him immobile.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Heavy grey clouds filled the entirety of the sky, seemingly unmoving. It wasn't the kind of sky that was full of rain; the clouds were simply working to block out the sun. A strange wave of dizziness, likely from the loss of blood and dehydration. He put his hand to his head and looked back down. He had been through worse than this; he had been a solider for all of his existence. He had taken wounds in battles that had rendered him more useless than this. But, it was different now because he couldn't simply retreat to his own camp and recover. He gritted his teeth and tightened his hand on his forehead. It didn't matter what his situation was, he was a military country and he had the discipline to do this.

He was still lost in his own pain and thoughts when he heard a voice, "Colonel Beilschmidt?" Prussia looked up to see that there was a mortal standing right in front of him, looking at him with an expression of concern. He wracked his brains to think about when he had been a colonel; he had worn the rank of every officer during the war. It had been Friedrich the Great that had told him that it was crucial to walk the footsteps of every soldier instead of commanding from the highest possible position. Fighting among the mortals allowed him to understand war and better empathize and strategize.

Then he remembered it had been in the beginnings of the Eastern front, when they had still been gaining ground. He refocused his attention on the man in front of him, who had realized by now that Prussia did not recognize him. He spoke, "I understand if you don't remember me, I was only a private. You saved me life in Belarus."

As Prussia watched the man talk, he realized how young the man actually was. He was the kind of boy who had been naïve and trusting, and then crushed by the harsh reality of the Eastern war. Prussia had seen far too many of them during the war, more the norm by the end than the exception. But this one remembered, he had personally shot a Soviet solider before he could shoot a young private, the man who now stood before him now looking a decade older. He said, trying not to sound completely, "I remember you, Private."

Despite his attempt to sound strong, his voice shook. The pain that he was still feeling was coming out in his voice. He had some idea what he looked like and it wasn't surprising that a man who had once served under him was looking at him like that. The mortal spoke again, "Do you have anywhere to stay, sir?"

Begrudging his own honesty, Prussia shook his head. In his current state there was no way he was getting to the border tonight. If the offer he anticipated was coming,then taking it would allow him to heal and get across the border when he was capable of it. As he expected, the other said in response to the nod, "Then I'm glad to have found you, sir. My wife and I have space."

Prussia nodded, saying as he did so, "I accept, and it will only be for a night or two." The choice to accept for a few days also had a strategic advantage. Russia would expect him to attempt to get to the border the quickest way possible. With a few days delay, it would make it less likely for Russia to catch him. He attempted to push himself away from the wall, but his legs were as wobbly as a newborn horse. With as much determination as he could, he managed to start walking again.

Prussia was hardily paying attention to where he was going; he knew that he could trust this man. He was a military country and complete trust in his soldiers was integral to his existence. He was pulled back into reality by the sound of another voice, a woman this time. She said, "Hans, is that you?"  
The mortal responded loudly, "Yes, I'm home. I brought a compatriot back with me." A thin woman with light brown hair held up in neat pin curls came around the corner from what appeared to be a kitchen. She was holding a small child in her arms, who looked like he had been born while his father was away at war.

The thought crossed Prussia's mind that this child was lucky to have a father who had survived the war and not ended up in a gulag. The woman looked at Prussia and smiled. It was an unusual reaction. Other countries accepted Prussia's appearance as normal, but mortals were not usually so accepting. Hans, the young soldier, took a step forward and made introductions, "This is my wife, Sophie. Her sister, Anna, is also living with us; she was bombed out of her home." He gestured to Prussia and continued, "This is Herr Beilschmidt."

Prussia, who was feeling strangely steady for the first time in the day, stepped forward and extended his hand, saying as he did so, "Gilbert, if you please." She awkwardly shook his hand, still holding onto the child.  
She then turned back to her husband and said, "Dinner will be ready soon." She looked over Prussia and said, attempting to be tactful, "You both have time to freshen up." Prussia took the hint; he knew that he did not look exactly presentable. He had not been anticipating this turn of events, but was grateful for it. Here, safe in an enclave of his own people, he felt stronger. Here he could heal in a way he could not on the streets.

Even more promising, Hans said to him once his wife had left, "We have the rare luxury of a bath tub, would you like to use it?" Prussia nodded and followed the mortal to a small bathroom. It wasn't spacious, but in this ruined city it was not hard to see why this was considered a rarity. It was lucky to find someone to take him in that had enough space to accommodate him, but that was the unsung benefit of being a military country. The loyalty of a citizen to a republic was strong, but the loyalty of a soldier to his state was unquestionable. That was where Prussia had always drawn his strength from, the unshakable belief of his army in here. With how many men he had fought alongside in this war, he should have realized that one would have found him in his time of need.

Once he was alone, Prussia turned to the tub and immediately started running water. It wasn't particularly hot, but that was only to be expected with the damage in infrastructure. He began to undress as the bath ran, starting with the shirt. Removing the fabric from the sensitive skin of his chest relieved part of the pain. He looked down and realized that his chest looked worse than it had, the bruising had spread like dark blue ink under parchment. There were now a series of sizable bruises across his chest. This at least explained how agonizing the pain had been.

Prussia then turned his attention to his pants, which he quickly removed along with his shoes. There was no visible damage below the waist. But, he knew that it was because the injuries were all internal. Trying not to think about how damaged he actually was, Prussia walked back to the tub and shut off the water. The first step into the water revealed it was lukewarm, but being entirely submerged was pleasant. The warm water washed over his wounds, stinging at first but fading to a feeling that was not uncomfortable.

He ran his hands over his body, trying to assess if there was any damage he had missed. But, even as he felt himself, he remembered the way that Russia had played with him. It had not been gentle, intentionally so, it was almost like he knew exactly what fantasies Prussia had been keeping locked away. The albino bit his own lip, tasting the scab that had developed.

The sex was one thing, but his mind drifted back to that morning. Russia had been soft, caring even. Prussia closed his eyes and sank lower into the water. It wasn't possible that it had meant anything. After what he had done, there was no way that Russia could feel anything for him other than hate and, apparently, lust. He bit into his own lip harder, trying to cause pain, trying not to feel anything. His mind was drifting back farther. Russia had looked so vulnerable on his knees, clutching the bullet wound. Nothing had haunted Prussia like those violet eyes, so full of pain and broken promises. Even when they attempted to muster anger, they had been far too broken to fight back.

Prussia let himself slip even lower into the water so that only his face was above water. No matter what Russia believed, Prussia had been in earnest with the non-aggression pact. He had told his brother that the Soviet Union would be a strong ally, regardless of ideological differences, and he had meant it. But, when his brother had told him to betray Russia, he could do little more than advise against it. He had given Germany control of everything with the intent that Germany would finally experience leadership. The consummate solider, Prussia had to follow his orders. He knew better than to refuse and undermine the authority he had given Germany. That would have split the very country, making the war effort impossible.

Now it hardly mattered, the action had been taken and the intentions would be lost in history. Prussia knew how deeply he had wounded Russia, and he was also aware that he had felt something for the Russian, not necessarily affection, more like a stirring of long-dead feelings. His hand ran over an old familiar scar on his leg. He remembered this one well. It was now centuries old, but there was still a memory attached to it. Prussia let his head sink all the way under the surface of the water as the memory came back.  
__________________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun was bathing the streets of Berlin, but there was no warmth in it for Prussia, who was standing on the veranda of his palace. This place still felt hollow without the person who had designed it, built it in the image of his own soul. It felt like a hollow place, but that had not changed Prussia's desire to rid himself of French occupation. He and Francis had once been friends, but that had ended when the Napoleon's army had turned east and decided to reduce Prussia to a puppet state.

Prussia gritted his teeth at the memory of waiting on the shore while France and Russia decided his fate. What would Fritz say? After all that he had done to keep the country strong, his successor had failed. That miserable dwarf had even had the audacity to admit it at Fritz's grave, "If he were here, I would not be." Prussia forced himself to focus on what he was doing in order to dispel the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

He was supposed to be welcoming the country that had single-handedly changed the balance of power against Napoleon. Almost on cue, the very country he had been thinking about rode into the square on a very handsome horse. Immediately, Russia dismounted and walked over towards Prussia, who mentally readied himself to be humble for once. It would not be easy, but he owed Russia at least that much for completely destroying France's army.

The Russian did not look like the kind of country that could do that much damage. He still had an awkwardness clinging to him that spoke of a boy still trying to fill out a man's body. When he got close enough to Prussia, Russia inclined his head and bowed. The albino was genuinely shocked. He was the one who had been defeated, who had continued to exist only by the good will of two other countries. If anything, he should be bowing to the man who had made it possible for him to free himself.

He said, still not quite sure how to interpret this gesture, "You have no reason to bow to me, Russland." Russia straightened up slowly and fixed his gaze on Prussia. The albino had certainly dealt with Russia before, but they had never been this close. He had never realized how staggeringly deep the shades of violet in his eyes were. They were not the same hard amethyst of Austria's eyes, these melted and reformed into new combinations of colors with every shift and emotion. There was something deeply captivating about those eyes.

Russia spoke, "But I do, Prussia. I have always admired your strength." His eyes held onto the words, resonating and exuding honesty. But, Prussia couldn't possibly believe the words. He responded, trying to not sound bitter about the compliment, "Strength? You could have chosen to make me disappear." The words did not carry the tact that Fritz had tried so hard to teach him, but they were honest.

Russia recoiled slightly at the statement, apparently unaccustomed to being praised. When he responded, he sounded like a child using a man's voice, "But why would I want you to vanish?"  
Prussia sighed and turned towards the door, saying as he did so, "We should speak inside, this is not a subject fit for the public. I believe we have an invasion of France to plan anyway."

The doors opened from the inside as soon as Prussia turned to them, and he briskly walked through them. He assumed that Russia was following him, as was polite. He heard the Russian behind him after a few steps, "Prussia, you're limping."

Prussia stopped walking. He had forgotten how pronounced his limp must be at the moment. Shamefully, he had had his horse shot out from under him in one of the first battles and managed the fracture a bone in the fall. Once France had established dominion, Prussia had mostly been confined to his chambers. Even now it was not completely healed. But, it was hardly a problem when he was on horseback. He responded, "I was wounded in battle, but it is healing."

He turned again to face Russia, attempting to convey that he didn't want to continue this discussion. It must have worked, because Russia replied, "Oh, of course a country like you doesn't balk at every injury." He didn't sound completely convinced though.

He had every right not to. Prussia was hiding another wound beneath his jacket, a stab wound to his side. This one was more recent, from the last battle with France. Prussia had won, but Francis had managed to get in one cheap shot. It still ached but at the moment Prussia was hiding it so that Russia didn't notice how weak he was. He refused to be the weak part of this alliance. Prussia continued the conversation where it had been left outside, "You could have gained much from dividing my lands, and letting me disappear."

A spark flared in the back of the violet eyes and he said, for once showing the rage that could decimate a large army, "I made the decision I deemed right. I didn't want you gone, and neither did Francis. Not all of us are motivated solely by gain." There was something transformative in this show of passion. Russia suddenly filled out every inch of his frame, making him appear imposing and regal. Like a bear standing on its hind legs, he appeared both larger and more intimidating than he initially had.

Prussia responded to not show that he was flustered, "Well, I am grateful." He made to turn casually on his heel again, but the movement jerked his side in precisely the wrong way. A bolt of stabbing pain went up his side. Without any thought, he put his hand on his side. He heard Russia cry out behind him, "Prussia!" The albino spoke back

between teeth gritted against the pain, "I'm fine." He had bent over when the pain had hit him, so his eyes were fixed on the floor. He noticed a pair of large boots enter his vision and he realized that Russia was now standing in front of him. He said, attempting to straighten up as he did so, "I am fine, Russland."  
The response was short and curt, "You are not." He looked directly at the albino and continued, "You are wounded; I can tell that."

Despite not being able to completely straighten up without bringing on another jolt of pain, Prussia responded, "I can handle it myself." It wasn't strictly true, but he didn't want his new ally to attempt to coddle him, or leave him entirely behind. He had revenge to take against France, and he would be damned if he was going to let Russia take it without him. Still in excruciating pain, Prussia made one more attempt to return to normality. This time he was able to achieve it, only through repression of pain, and look Russia directly in the eyes.

He was about to say something when Russia took an abrupt step forward and put one hand on the wound. This gesture, so improper, confused Prussia so thoroughly that he was struck speechless. There was a moment of complete silence before Russia said, bluntly, "Bullet or sword?"  
Still searching for meaning in this strange encounter, Prussia responded, "Sword. Russland-"  
Russia cut in, correcting him, "Ivan."

Then, he changed subjects without allowing the albino a moment to speak, "This will take at least a week to heal. I will have to inform the men." Finally regaining his sense of propriety, Prussia pushed away. He was thoroughly confused.  
He said, giving voice to his own fears, "We have to push forward to Paris, that is the only option." Every piece of military training in his head was telling him that this was the moment to defeat France and to delay was to falter.

Russia smiled at him, and the expression was both cold and indescribably warm, "We will. But I will stay here until you are back in fighting condition."  
Throwing all inclinations towards propriety to the wind, Prussia responded, "But why, Ivan?" Russia took the liberty and closed the space between them. Then, he deliberately put his hand on Prussia's shoulder and said, "Because, Gilbert-" He used the human name without permission, and continued, "I admire you." The stress he put on the verb made Prussia wonder if he meant something else.  
_________________________________________________________

Russia was standing at the window of the house in Berlin looking out over the city as it was bathed in inky night. He heard the door open behind him and the frantic worried steps of a scout. He spoke without turning towards the man, "Report."  
The man sounded frustrated, but he was curt in his response, "We have searched the city for the escapee, but there is no sign of him."

Russia smiled to himself. He should have expected this. Prussia was not without friends in his own capital city and one of them must have taken him in. There was no way that even a country could have made it all the way to the border. It didn't matter though; he wouldn't be able to escape. Russia spoke, "Search around this house, leave no dwelling unsearched. When you find him, kill whoever gave him shelter."

He had to make it clear to Prussia that there was no going back or relying on old support systems. If he was going to choose that path, then he was going to pay for it. He smirked to himself; this would all be over soon. The scout responded, "Understood." Then he paused for a second and said, "Sir, may I ask a question?"

Russia weighed the question for a moment and decided that there would be no harm in it. If this question proved impertinent, then it was possible to revoke his permission and send this man to the depths of Siberia. He responded, "Yes, but be quick."  
The scout said, seeming to sense how fleeting this permission was, "What do you intend for this man. Is he to be your servant like the other three?"

Almost exactly at the mention of his position, Lithuania walked through the door carrying a tray with a single cup of dark tea. He silently walked over to Russia, keeping his eyes down, and mutely offered the cup to Russia. He took it without a word to Lithuania and answered the question, "No. Gilbert is-" He paused and looked at Lithuania, who was still looking resolutely at the ground. He finished his thought with a smirk, "Gilbert is different. I want him strong, but I want him to be mine."

He meant the words. Wordless deference was acceptable for the Baltic States. But, he always wanted to see those red eyes looking directly at him. The process of breaking served a different purpose, which would become clear short enough. He had enough of questioning and he raised his hand and gestured for everyone to leave him alone. There was the sound of hurrying footsteps as both the scout and Lithuania left.

Once was alone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his prize of war. The iron cross glimmered in his hand, the black stone reflecting the light in the room. Russia spoke to it as though he was talking to Prussia himself, "Is the escape going the way you expected it to?" He took a drink of the tea before continuing with a smile, "Run if you like. But I know your thoughts are full of me tonight, my dear Gil."


	7. Chapter 7

It had been a couple days since he had arrived and Prussia was starting to heal enough to feel anxious. He could walk and run now, there was no point in staying with a mortal family. Especially because he had been hearing rumors that there were Soviet raids happening in different parts of the city. He knew that Ivan was looking for him; there was no other explanation.

In the small room he had been using while he was here, he used the small cracked mirror on the wall to take in his own appearance. He had actually been eating over the past couple days and it was beginning to show in his face. He no longer looked sickly and thin. Most of his wounds had healed, but his white skin still showed bruises and marks. The hickeys on his neck had mercifully faded and only the teeth marks were still visible. He buttoned his collar over the marks, which hid it effectively.

He was determined to leave, but he wasn't going to do it tonight. At this moment, he was getting ready to eat dinner with the family for one last time. They were good people, the kind of earnest Germans that Prussia had always tried to protect and cultivate. He pulled on a jacket over his shirt. The building had taken too much damage from the war and was unable to effectively hold heat, so it was necessary to wear more clothing than usual. The cold grey weather had not dissipated, the hold of the foreign winter was strong.

Satisfied that he was acceptably dressed, Prussia turned to the door and opened it. He walked through to the main room, where the rest of the family had already prepared dinner. Without speaking to anyone, he sat at the table. He was soon not alone. He wanted to be a part of the gathering, but there was always going to be a separation between them. These people, as well as they meant, did not know who Prussia really was. They did not understand the weight that he was carrying.

As a pot of potatoes was passed around the table, the conversation started in earnest. Sophie said, referring to the food that was now being passed, "We finally have enough potatoes again, thanks to the Soviets." Prussia cut into the potato he had put onto his own plate, trying not to think that Russia had handed it to him.  
His own resentment was echoed by Hans, who immediately said, "In exchange for being occupied. We're still living on rations and we have Soviet barbarians roaming our streets." Hans's knife slipped through the potato and loudly hit the plate, indicating the force that he had put behind it.

To this, Prussia was inclined to agree. He didn't want to be reduced to a sustenance level. However, the other side of his mind was expressed by Sophie, who immediately countered by saying, "Would you rather we starve? You have a child to care for, Hans. Put your pride aside."  
The soldier, ever loyal to his country, responded immediately, "I don't want to see him grow up in communism."

Prussia didn't speak because he was intrigued by the discourse unfolding in front of him. It was his own contradictions, voiced by two separate mortals. But, he did have to ask a question. He chose to speak only when Hans's statement had already died in the air, "Do you think it would be better to have a stable regime or to resist?" He intended it to guide what he did. He was a country, and he owed his existence to his people. If anyone was going to be the arbiter of what he did, it would be them.

Hans did not hold back with his response, "After fighting so hard, I will not just roll over."  
His wife attempted to stop him, "Hans-"  
But he continued, his voice picking up passion as he went, "We are a strong, resolute people. Even now, even in defeat. I say we should resist."   
The words touched Prussia, reminded him of himself. He was a man of war and always had been. It was wrong, weak, to think of simply letting Russia have his way. Apparently aggravated, Sophie stood up and said, "I'm going to check on the baby."

She stormed out of the room, leaving the albino alone with her husband. Prussia sighed, "I am sorry about that argument."  
Hans responded, running his hands through his hair as he did so, "Don't be. She has been under a lot of pressure lately. When you've been worn down, bread is all you want regardless of the cost."

Prussia nodded, trying to both sympathize and agree with a gesture. Hans seemed to understand and said, "But I stand by what I said. We need to remember that we are a proud, strong people who should not be vassals of the Soviet Union."

The albino changed the subject, desperate to say what he needed to say. He said, making no pretense of it, "I have to leave here, Hans." The mortal immediately reacted with shock. It was only natural, he could not have fully understood the reason.  
He said, "Why? Where will you go?"

Prussia answered him a truth that still did not reveal who he was, "The Soviets are looking for me. I need to go West. I cannot put your family in danger." He was thankful that the mortal had been a soldier under his command, because it stopped the inevitable questions.  
Hans only said, "Be careful. The border is closely guarded." Again, the albino nodded, taking this as a farewell.  
He told his plan in the least possible detail, he did not want to put any of these people in further danger, "I will leave early in the morning and cross the border when the guard changes."  
_______________________________________________________

Prussia's heart was pounding in his chest as he got closer to the border, anxiety building and causing the organ to take up the even gate of a warhorse. The hooves were beating against his sternum, not allowing him any peace. The Brandenburg gate was visible on the horizon, promising escape just on the other side. Escape from what was uncertain, Prussia had to tell himself that it was escape from repression. But his mind floated back to that night, the one that had left still healing puncture wounds on his chest. The touch still haunted him, still leaving invisible longing.

As he took a step closer, the sillouette of the gate loomed large against the grey sky. The symbol of his own nationalism lay in ruins, coated in a layer of war time ash. The image of his own failure made his hands start to shake as the pounding in his chest intensified. He had to just make it across the line, back to where Ludwig was. He took a couple more steps closer, and then hurridly ducked behind a building.

There were a pair of Soviet soldiers standing just under the gate, leaning against the masonry. They seemed to be having a conversation, but as Prussia watched, hearing only his own heavy breathing in his ears, one of the man answered his radio. He talked for a moment to someone on the other end, and then spoke to the other solder. Then, they both turned and started walking. Prussia restrained the smile that threated to appear on his face. This is what he wanted, it would allow him to slip through the gate and to the other side. For the first time, the possibility of escape was actually real.

Prussia collected his courage and walked out from behind the building. He had the opportunity and he had to take it. He took the first few feet at a quick trot. So far, nothing had made an attempt to stop him. His thundering heart leapt into his throat. It could actually be possible to get to the West, to be with his brother again. He emerged into the open area around the gate. His gaze was fixed on his destination. He was almost there, almost to freedom.

As he got even closer, a pair of trucks drove in between him and the gate, completely blocking his path. He didn't need to see the red star across the doors to know that these belonged to the Soviet army. His heart sank, but some part of his mind had expected it, even anticipated it. But, as reality came crashing, he couldn't help but feel defeated. Freedom had been almost within reach, and the walls had gone back up again. Prussia slid to a halt but immediately turned around to look for an exit. 

The way back into the city had been blocked as well. "You have no escape, Gilbert." The voice was far too familiar. Prussia turned again towards the gate and fixed his eyes on Russia. He wanted to exude hate, but his heart wavered uncertainly in his chest. He wanted to hate, to feel absolutely nothing else, but there was something else that would not fade.

He said, trying to pull contempt from the pit of his stomach into his voice, "How did you know I would be here?" Russia took his finger off the trigger, apparently realizing that Prussia was not about to run.

But as he took a step forward, Prussia matched it with a step backwards. The reaction was the last manifestation of his pride. The increasingly vocal part of his mind controlled by his libido was already telling him what could happen if he just let Russia close the space between them. Again, he shoved the feelings down. Russia spoke with a self-assured smirk, "You don't blend into a crowd. And it was only a matter of time before you ran to your little brother." He took another step forward and Gilbert tensed. The albino's desires were warring in his head. Every ounce of pride, of dignity as a nation was telling him to run. But on a visceral level he did not want to.

His rational mind was also telling him that it would be impossible to get away. Every muscle in his body was tense but indecisive. He spoke, only asking the question to clarify his own position, "Will you shoot me if I run? Your allies wouldn't approve of you killing me."  
Russia smirked and, seeming to guess at Prussia's indecision, took another step forward as he said, "Alliances end when wars end."

Prussia felt a twitch go through his leg muscles, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. The meaning of the words was perfectly clear. Russia was no longer heeding any of the countries he had fought alongside in the war, which meant that Prussia could expect no help from any of them. The Russian continued, still closing the gap between them, "I don't intend to kill you, but that won't stop me from shooting you somewhere painful and nonlethal." He lowered the point of the gun just slightly so it wasn't pointed directly at the other's chest. He smiled almost sweetly, "You should also consider that sweet family that you have been hiding you hostages in this situation as well."

The force of the words hit Prussia and for a moment he felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He hadn't thought that he had been observed, especially that closely. He clenched his jaw and attempted not to speak. If he spoke at this moment, it would only result in more eventual pain. But, the icy gaze held him as Russia advanced still farther, turning the feet between them to inches.

Finally, Prussia could no longer hold back his retort, "Those people have nothing to do with the feud between us." There was a slight twitch at the corner of Russia's mouth as though his expression momentarily became a grimace. He said, "So now you care about innocent blood, Nazi?" The cold response did little to mask the anger that the words conveyed.  
Prussia hissed in response, "What do you want from me?"

Russia took the final step that separated them, and said, "I want you to behave." Prussia looked at the gun, which was pointed now clearly at his knees. If he even tried to run, Russia could easily take out both of his knees before he had even gotten much distance. This realization seemed good enough to justify releasing the tension in his body. But, this was contrived. In truth, Prussia was never going to run. Even without the threats, there was no way that he was going to run. In the interlude that he had been hiding out, his mind had completely fixated on Russia.

He let out all the air he had been holding in his lungs and then said, "You can put the gun away. I'm not going anywhere."  
A sickeningly triumphant smile curled across Russia's face and he purred, "Good boy, Gilbert. You learn quickly." He extended his hand to the albino.

Prussia was honestly puzzled until the other said, "Give me back my key. I didn't leave it for you to lose it." Prussia gasped, again. He should have known it; Russia would not have been so careless. But the opportunity had been far too tempting for Prussia to consider that it might be a trap. This is the second time he had stumbled onto one of Russia's traps. There would not be a third. He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the small silver key.  
He tried to fix his eyes with spite on Russia's face as he said, "Was this another test?"

Russia finally lowered the gun and put it back in the holster. He then closed his hand on the key and met Prussia's gaze with a mixture of amusement and steely resolve. He answered the question, "Yes, and you failed." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a now familiar pair of handcuffs. Even if it was a sign of defeat, Prussia actually felt acrid excitement at the sight of the handcuffs. Without any prompting, the albino extended his wrists to be bound again. The metal cinched tight around his skin again, looser now than it had been the first time.

Without skipping a beat, Russia put his hand on the chain between the other's hands and pulled. Prussia was immediately pressed against Russia's chest. Russia's other hand ran down the albino's back and spoke. The accented Russian voice slipped sinuously into Prussia's ear, "How beautifully obedient of you. I could get used to this"  
Prussia couldn't stop himself from responding, "I didn't have a choice."  
This did nothing to erase Russia's smile. He responded, "And yet you knew what I wanted without me saying anything." His hand moved down Prussia's back still farther. Prussia was pressed even more firmly against him and the combination of the aggressive touch and the cold air produced goosebumps on the pale skin. Russia continued to talk, "That tells me more than you think, Gil."

Prussia had to hold back his response. His brain was reacting on spiteful instinct. Despite what he was actually thinking, he had firey retorts on the tip of his tongue. But, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest with how close together they were. Russia leaned in a said in the same soft, sinuous tone into Prussia's ear, "Do you enjoy being controlled? Or do I scare you that much?"  
The albino pulled against the handcuffs and said, "I'm not scared of you."  
Russia responded immediately, "Then why run?"

Again, Prussia attempted to pull away, but it was a fruitless attempt. This time he did respond with rage, "I don't expect you to understand." His modivation had not been wholley to get away. It was also important to see Germany. This rage, was at least legitimate. But nothing seemed to diminish the smile on Russia's face.  
His expression remained static as he said, "Oh I do understand."

He let go of the handcuffs and took a step back, turning as he did so. Prussia couldn't decide if he was actually disapointed by the loss of contact. He categorically told himself that there was no reaction but confusion to this change. Russia clarified, "Come with me, Gilbert. I have something to show you." Seeing he had no other option, Prussia followed after him and was soon level with Russia. He was aware of the fact that there were a few Soviet soliders that were just a few feet behind him. Even without Russia's gun directly trained on him, there was no option of running.

Russia took long strides towards the border with West Germany. Prussia's curiosity intensified as he got closer and closer to the gate. Russia didn't stop until he was inside one of the corredors of the Brandenburg gate. When he stopped, he said, turning his head to look at the albino, "Now tell me what you see."

Prussia looked out past the border and saw nothing but an empty street. There were a few mortals milling around, but there was nothing of consequence. So, he turned his gaze back to the Russian and said, "I don't see anything. What are you getting at?" Russia smirked and walked over so he was standing directly behind the other.

He slipped his hand around the smaller man's waist. He said, his voice softer now that he was so close to Prussia's ear, "Look again, what don't you see?" Again, Prussia had no idea what he was supposed to say in response.  
Irritated, he turned his head again and snapped, "What's your point?"

Russia's hand grabbed his chin and forced Prussia to focus on the empty other side. The Russian finally asked, "Do you see Ludwig standing over there, ready to whisk you away?" Prussia made an unconscious growl in his throat. If he could, he would have turned and faced Russia directly.   
The other continued talking, his arm tightening as he felt the albino resisting, "Is that what you imagined would happen? That he would stand there and pine for you?"

This time Prussia had to say something. Boiling rage overwhelmed his senses. He was not going to let anyway talk about his brother like this. He said, "Don't you dare talk about him!" Yet again, Russia's grip tightened.  
Even though he couldn't see it, Prussia could hear the sneer in the other's voice, "Is that still a sensitive issue?"  
There was a slight laugh before Russia continued, "You need to face the truth. As we speak, Alfred is convincing your brother that he's better off without you."

Blinding rage overwhelmed Prussia's mind. He couldn't think past it. He wouldn't let America manipulate Germany. His protective instinct told him to charge over the border and find his brother, but Russia held him even tighter. He hissed through clenched teeth, "No, I won't allow it."

Russia had released his hold on the albino's chin and stroked the white cheek, which was shaking with rage. His voice, if anything, got even sweeter and more appealing, "Shh…hate Alfred all you want. He deserves it."

Something snapped into place in Prussia's mind. This was yet another layer of manipulation. But, he couldn't shake the idea that it could be true. If he could be manipulated by Russia, then why couldn't America do the same to Germany. And Germany was not as well versed in lies or politics, he could easily fall prey to them. The idea that Ludwig would turn against Prussia was also possible. It was easy to hang the entire war, all the destruction, on Prussia. Thus, it would be easy to convince Germany that it was better to be a peaceful state.

Without any real conviction behind it, Prussia responded, "You're no better than him." He expected another smooth response in his ear. But, with exceptional speed, Russia spun him around and slammed him against the wall of the corridor. One hand was holding both of Prussia's above his head. Russia leaned forward, his face finally showing frustration. He spoke, "Your lies aren't fooling anyone."  
Prussia responded immediately, affronted, "Lies?"

Russia's smile returned, this time with the predatory gleam. This, it seemed, was the final moment he had been waiting for. He said, "Your heart isn't in this resistance and I know why." He leaned in, and his voice got quieter, his lips brushed against the albino's ear as he spoke, "But you don't need to fight me. I know how to please a masochist."

Prussia's immediate reaction to this fact, spoken so sweetly in his ear, was to put all of his strength into trying to get his hands off the wall. He wasn't cognitively sure of what he was attempting to do, but he needed to do it. Russia wasn't supposed to know about his masochism already. His mind couldn't identify what he had done that had already given it away.

Russia reacted to the sudden push with a slight laugh. He didn't move his lips away from the tantelizing place they were right next the the albino's white skin, but not touching. He still spoke, his tone had taken on a low lustful purr, "You're so proud, but you know what you want from me."  
Prussia finally responded, trying not to think about the way his blood was rushing away from his head, "You're wrong about me."

He wanted to say more, but feared giving himself away. It was not an honest response either. Russia was uncomfortably correct. Russia didn't move away. He responded, "Then tell me, Gil, what kind of man goes from being tortured to wanting to be fucked?" Before Prussia could respond with another lie, Russia continued to speak, "I have never had anyone push me to go harder before." He continued with his final realization, "Don't deny that you enjoy pain." Finally he allowed his mouth to touch Prussia's ear. He bit down on the flesh, using his teeth to create sensation.

Unable to stifle himself, Prussia made a strangled moan. He hadn't intended to, but the combination of the words and the action had elicited the sound. Russia leaned back again and smirked. Prussia felt a drop of blood roll down his neck, and he tried not to think about what it actually meant. Russia still had one hand on Prussia's, but his grip had loosened because of what he interpreted as a surrender. He said, "So, are you going to be good for me?"

The albino took a deep breath and steadied himself. If he said yes, then he was agreeing to be a puppet. He couldn't accept that. The words of Hans rang through his ears. The mortal had affirmed that he was still strong and proud, even if he was forced to live in a broken city. He couldn't and wouldn't allow himself to cave to his carnal weakness. He fixed his crimson eyes on Russia's violet ones. He responded with all the spite he could muster, "Nein."

This actually elicited a reaction of surprise from the Russian, who immediately recoiled. Prussia pressed his advantage, trying to speak about what he was feeling, "Do you think I'll kiss your boots because you've figured out my weakness? I am responsible to more than my libido." Russia finally looked livid.

He replied, and his voice had gone icy, "There is no way for you to escape. Why make this harder for yourself?" There was something supremely satisfying about actually getting Russia to crack. Prussia was starting to lose feeling in his fingers with how long they had been held above his head in handcuffs. The tingling was starting to spread down his wrists. Regaurdless, his voice was strong when he responded, "I'm not a hedonist. I am responsible to my people." Without thinking, he added, "Which is concept you don't seem to grasp."

Without even bothering to say anything, Russia slapped him hard across the face. He managed to hit the still-healing bruise across the albino's cheek. The pain immediately flared across his cheek. His neck snapped to the side with the force of the blow. Had his hands been free, Prussia would have cradeled his face with his hand. As it was, he had to turn his gaze back to Russia, whose eyes had turned to ice. Only when he was looking at the other did he realize that his hands had been released.

The Russian was now towering over him the way only he could do when he was enraged. Instead of grabbing the handcuffs again, he put one hand around the albino's throat and used it to pin him against the wall. He wasn't applying enough pressure for this to be a stranglehold, it was simply a point of control. His words were full of rage, "Your people don't mean anything to you. I saw what you did during the war. You only care about yourself."

Prussia decided to try to speak, even though he had a gloved hand around his throat, "You're no less authoritarian than I was." He expected to have that hand tighten around his throat and to black out again.  
Instead, Russia said, with his same cold voice, "You will pay for that remark. And you will pay dearly for this escape attempt."

Slowly, he removed his hand from the albino's throat. But, his eyes kept him pinned to the wall. Russia then said sharply, "Follow me." This was an order, even sharper than the last, and it demanded to be followed. Prussia was too well trained as a soldier to ignore a direct sharp order like that. All the same, he took a moment to glance over the border into the other side of Germany. Was it really possible that America was also bending his brother's ear? The protective instinct in him roared to life again and focused on America. It told him to hate America. Even if this was Russia's manipulation, Prussia couldn't ignore the feeling that was gnawing at him.

It was only a few seconds of looking back, but a sharp snap reminded him that Russia would not be patient when he was this enraged. He turned and walked away from the border, still uncertain of how changed his brother would be the next time they saw each other. When he turned back to the other side of the gate, he saw that only one of the trucks remained from the initial ambush. The fact that Russia was standing beside it confirmed that this one was intended for Prussia. He walked directly to it, expecting to simply be loaded into the back and driven away.

But, Russia said swiftly, "Stop." Prussia's feet obeyed without his consent, which made the smile return to Russia's face.  
He walked over to the albino and said, his tone mocking, "Not so rebellious after all."

Then he walked around so that he was behind Prussia. He started to speak again, "The Golden Horde did little good for me, but he did teach me the sport of falconry." Suddenly, Prussia's vision was extinguished. No longer able to see, he heard Russia's voice becoming a comforting constant in his ear, "And it's so important to put a hood on the bird. You, my proud eagle, are going to be blind and bound until you learn to come back to my hand."

The soft touch of leather, grazed down the cheek that had been slapped, mixing the stinging of the pain with allure. Prussia tried not to enjoy the feeling, but sensation seemed more real with sight extinguished. He turned his head slightly towards the touch and earned a slight chuckle from Russia. There was no way of telling what Russia's expression was. Prussia could only listen for orders and reactions from Russia.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, which pushed him gently forward. This he interpreted as an order to walk forward. He did exactly that. He only stopped when a hand stopped him. Then he felt Russia's big hands, which touched him with an unexpected gentleness, lift him up into the truck. Deprived of the sight of cold expressions, it was easier to feel the gentleness that was always present. He was then urged into a sitting position. He didn't want to be docile like this, but there was something comforting in how firm and confident Russia's touch was. It was disappointing when the hands were removed. Prussia felt strangely, achingly lonely left in the dark as he felt the truck start to move, pulling him away from the border and his brother.


	8. Chapter 8

Some time during the truck ride back, Prussia drifted to sleep. It was easy kept in the complete darkness. He was awoken by the feeling of the truck stopping. When he first awoke, he forgot that he was blindfolded. For a moment, he lurched forward and attempted to feel out for the world, but his hands were bound. He heard a laugh and the entire situation came back to him. But, he knew that Russia had already observed his confusion. This became all the more clear when Russia said, "Disorienting, isn't it?"

Prussia wasn't entirely sure what direction the voice was coming from, but he directed his retort in the more likely direction, "Do you get off on this."  
The response he got was, in a tone that was throughly amused, "Not quite yet, but I have something in mind for you."

The albino felt himself pulled up into a standing position again. Again, as he walked he was guided by Russia's hand on his shoulder. He could feel the change of temperature as they entered a building, but there was no way other than that to tell where he was. They stopped again, Prussia fervently wished that he could see anything to give him an indication of what to expect. His only indication was the sounds and the feelings. Thus, it was surprising when he felt the hard metal of the handcuffs was removed from his wrists. He didn't let himself feel relieved by this yet. Russia had said that he would be punished, and he trusted the Russian to fulfil the threat. He felt something close around his wrists again, and the texture seemed to indicate that these were the leather cuffs.

Then Prussia felt his hands being pulled up by something attached between them. He realized, sinkingly that his hands were going to be suspended above his head again. If he spent too much time in this position, the muscles in his shoulders would become sore and eventually exceptionally painful. He had used this technique on prisoners before, and knew very well that this was effective.

But he felt Russia's hands on his chest now that it was completely avaliable. Russia spoke, giving Prussia the first hint of what was about to happen, "You're wearing too much clothing again. But I can fix that." The point of a knife grazed up his chest and the albino shivered. His shirt and jacket were being cut away from his body. The tearing was loud in the quiet room and seemed to echo off the walls as Russia pulled off his shirt. Prussia was well aware of what parts of his body were undressed because of the cold touch of air on the warm, exposed fleshed.

Once he had finished with the front of the shirt, Russia did the same to the back and finally sliced through the sleaves so that he could remove the fabric entirely from the albino's torso. There was a profound vulnerability in this position, being half-nude, blindfolded, and completely at the mercy of Russia. The voice, which was becoming the only certainty, came in his ear again, "That will do for now. Tell me, does this still hurt?"

Prussia's confusion lasted only a moment before Russia started to play with the nipple that he had peirced. The feeling was completely undefinable. The wound was still fresh, but it also felt like every nerve in the flesh had been intensified and was radiating pleasure. He couldn't control his expression, a soundless moan appeared on his face before he remembered how Russia was watching him. He was reminded of that fact by a satisfied laugh, "I should have done both if that was the reaction I was going to get. But, this time I will punish you for running."

The Russian's hands were pulled away and Prussia was left alone again. The only sound was the ringing of footsteps against what sounded to be a slick floor. Russia was walking around him again. From what he could tell, Russia was behind him. There was a sound of something brushing against a metal table as it was picked up. What the object was Prussia could only guess at, but the sound of it made him wonder what was about to happen. It didn't sound like something heavy, so it was possible that it was yet another blade.

The question was answered when he felt strips of smooth leather moving up his back. It was a strange sensation to feel the light touch, almost erotic, and to feel and see nothing else. Prussia's breath hitched in his throat. He was not certain whether the reaction was from fear or simply anticipation. Russia spoke, "Do you feel this? Do you know what this is?"

Prussia had no choice but to answer, but he would not give the answer in a way that would indicate he was submitting, "Are you going to whip me?" He heard Russia laugh slightly at his response. This was not the reaction Prussia wanted; he wanted to see that his resistance was causing frustration.  
Russia said, his tone conveying his own excitment about the prospect, "Yes I am. Judging by your back, this will be the first time for you."

A finger felt its way down one of the albino's scars, "This was made by something harder. What was it?" Even without seeing it, Prussia knew the scar he was talking about. He remembered the pain of its creation perfectly and the reason for it. The honest answer to the question was a cane, and it had been at the hands of his king when he had unwisely stepped between his king and his crown prince. Even if it was painful, that memory was his own and he was not going to share it with Russia. He remained resolutely silent.

Russia didn't seem to mind. He took a step back, his heavy boots making a distinct sound as he planted his feet. There was no sound, no indication as he raised the whip. Pain sprayed across Prussia's back as all the tails came down with staggering force. It was like lines of fire burning down his back. He clenched his jaw and tried to keep himself from making any noise. Nothing slipped through, but this was only the first blow. He had ordered sailors flogged before, and he knew that the whip would soon tear strips of flesh from his back. Mortal men always started to writhe and scream by at least the fifth, even with the strongest discipline. He would not cave so easily, especially not to Russia.

Another hard lash came down on the albino's back, this one doubling the pain. Prussia hissed loudly as the third lash came down with increadible accuracy on the exact same spot the other two had hit. This got him a comment from Russia, "Your virgin back can't take this for too long, even with your discipline." Prussia desperately wanted to say something, anything to show how he wasn't breaking. Even though the words were composed and fiery in his head, he couldn't open his mouth to say it because his teeth were clenched too tight. Instead, he growled in the back of his throat.

For this, he got another lash across his back. This time it hit new skin. This spread the pain out across Prussia's back, making it entirely more intense. Each blow felt like a line of fire. Again, he would not scream. He would not let himself break so easily. As a couple more lashes fell on his back, Prussia couldn't help but groan. As the sixth one finished, he could feel that the whip was slightly wet. He knew that the liquid was his own blood. His mind registered how much damage was being done to his back, but that thought was soon lost in the pain. As soon as he let out the sound, Russia stopped and added, "You should let me hear your voice. I may spare you a few lashes if I enjoy the sounds you make."

To this Prussia had to respond. He would not be baited like this. He said, his teeth still gritted, "I'm not one of those Baltic weaklings. I won't cower because you want me to."  
He heard a laugh in response, and another lash came down on his back, "That's why I am enjoying this so much. When I do break you, and I will break you eventually, it's going to be all the sweeter."

Another hard lash came across his back, making Prussia have to stop a scream in his own throat. There was a drop of something, most likely blood, making its way down his back. For a sailor, this was comparitively few lashes, but Prussia had never been whipped before and the burning pain was becoming unbearable. Even though he caught most of the scream, a groan came out. He knew that Russia was taking every sound as a victory. But, it couldn't be helped, the pain was becoming the only sensation he could feel, the only thing he was aware of. There was nowhere to look, nothing to see. There was only pain, the sound of the whip cutting through the air, and the smell of his own blood.

He could not tell how many more lashes fell before they stopped, he only knew that the pain was intensifying at an increassing rate. Only when it reached a plateau did Prussia realize that Russia had stopped. It didn't matter, as far as he was aware he was alone in the darkness with nothing but the agonizing pain across his back. But then he heard Russia's voice again, this time much closer, "That was 30 lashes, but you are shaking."

Hands ran down his arms, which were undoubtly shaking. They were tiring from being in this position and pain was shaking through his whole frame. He took heavy breaths, attempting to stop himself from shaking. This would not help him appear less vulnerable. Russia continued in his ear, "It's fascinating the way you control yourself." His hands roamed down the albino's arms and further down his side. His thumbs pressed against wounds of the other's back, eliciting a hiss. Since Prussia was not offering retorts, he continued talking, "But you don't know what you're denying yourself."

This time Prussia did bite back, "Unlike you, I don't just want sex. You have nothing to offer me." Another short laugh came in his ear and the tone of it sent a shiver down his spine. It was sublimely exciting, but terrifying at the same time. It sounded like Russia knew something, some secret that gave him an upper hand. The silence ticked on, and Prussia couldn't bare it. With that voice the only thing he could grasp at he needed responses to keep his bearings. He snapped, his temper getting the best of him for once, "What are you so smug about?"

He cursed letting out his anger, it violated his usual discipline. But he was frustrated, he couldn't see Ivan's reactions but the man seemed unflappable from what he said. This did not change when he responded, "I know you crave me, but that isn't your weakness." He paused for only a moment, and Gilbert felt a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then Russia continued, "You want the world to quake before you, to kneal at your feet."

He paused again and placed another soft peck on the albino's shoulder, close to his neck. The touch of the lips were featherlight, and it was an amazing contrast with the hard lashes. The soft touches made no sense in the face of what he just done. But Prussia was finding it strangely comforting, like Russia was caring for the wounds that he had made himself.

The appealing words rang through his ears. All of Prussia's ambition knew that was the truth. He longed to see alll his enemies before him, forced to be deferent. It had been exceptionally satisfying to have Poland kiss his boots and the darkest part of himself craved more. With nothing to focus on, the image flashed into his mind with phenominal clarity. He could feel the triumph again, he could smell the blood and the gunpowder. It was intoxicating in a way that physical pleasure could not be. He turned his head towards the sound of the voice that poured dark, poison ambition into him. It was a gesture of attraction, but he did it without concious thought. His deepest urge, his dark ambition, was being fed now.

He felt lips brush against his own, "I can give you the world if you let me. I can use your skills, your cunning." He parted his lips slightly, which served as an unconcious invitation. As ambition intensified, so did his longing. The darkest parts of his mind, those that craved power and the Russian's attention, were intwined with each other. One led to the other with no border between them.

Russia's hands moved away from the wounds on the back, signaling that he was not going to continue punishment. The twisted ambition was in control of Prussia's mind now, and he could feel an unfamiliar smirk on his lips. It was the same one that had appeared nearly a decade ago with a similar promise. It didn't go unnoticed. Russia moved one hand so that it was gently placed under the albino's chin. Prussia could almost imagine the way that Russia was looking at him right now, and it should turn his stomach, but it didn't. As he expected, Russia said to him, "There it is. Give in to this feeling."

His other hand slipped lower and followed the lines of Prussia's abdomen, until it reached his pants. He didn't take off the garment this time. Instead, he palmed the fabric, forcefully enough that he could feel the half-hard organ underneath. Prussia couldn't see anything, but he could feel everything. Russia had not lied when he said he understood masochism, the mix of pain and temptation was magnificent. All the while, Russia purred into his ear, "Everyone you ever hated will be at your feet, I promise. They'll shake with terror."

Without any thought, or indeed caution, he ground against the hand. As a reward, Russia squeezed him. Prussia let out a short hiss, but this one was born of pleasure not pain. It wasn't just the touch that was arrousing him. The words in his ear were far more insidious. If he could have that kind of power, then it didn't matter what he had to do for it. The Russian stopped his stream of corruption to say, "You look so beautiful; I could devour you whole." Prussia should have pulled away, or snapped back. But it felt like the process was already starting. His mind was folding in on itself and falling into the blackness of ambition and lust. This felt wonderful, and there was nothing to see. There was nothing to remind him that he had to fight back. Even his own mind was slipping in this state of complete deprivation.

Quick, shallow breaths were escaping his mouth. His body was burning with desire, longing to be taken. Russia gave him another hard squeeze and Prussia bucked his hips against him again with reckless abandon. The Russian continued speaking, "You want me to, don't you?" There was no question of the answer. Prussia let out a whimper that he had not intended, "Ivan." It was only a name, but it was as close to an affirmation as he could get. He fully expected the other to strip off his clothing and start ravishing him. It would only be sex, just like last time. It was a single act and it could be denied or blamed on poor judgment.

But, instead Russia spoke, "First swear yourself to me, then I'll give you everything you want." These words awoke the resistance still present in Prussia. Whatever his ambitions, he could not cave. He could not break so easily when he had spent so much time telling Germany to be strong. He could not abandon his people for the sake of his own lust.

He growled back, the strength returning to his voice suddenly, "Nein. I will not get on my knees for you." Both hands immediately released Prussia, leaving him alone again. The disappointment was unavoidable, and Prussia felt himself cursing Russia's self control. Heavy footsteps rang out as Russia walked around him.  
Only when the footsteps stopped did Russia speak again, this time clearly standing in front of him, "Well, it looks like you found your discipline again. I wonder how much longer it will last." He took a single step forward and said, "Consider your own decisions. I will do you this courtesy though."

He stepped forward and used one hand to deal with the consequences of his actions. Prussia had to focus all his willpower to only let out a small groan as he came. Not completely in control of himself, Russia brushed his hand up Prussia's abdomen. The albino moaned, his body was too sensitive from the orgasm to be quiet. Then Russia released him and only the sound of steps told him where Russia was. The footsteps then turned and became progressively quieter and quieter. Prussia realized what was going on. He said, the desperation he didn't want to feel slipping through, "Are you leaving me?"

Russia's voice was far away when he spoke, indicating how big the room was, "Yes I am. When you've had time to reconsider your decisions, I will return." The only other sound was the closing of the door that followed. In the silence and the dark that he was left in, Prussia immediately reflected on the situation. His back was still in pain, but it was fading. He wouldn't have a respite from pain though. Sooner than he would like, this position would hurt.

He still felt terribly aroused, his skin longed to be touched again, to be carressed. But, his reason was telling him that he could not be so wanton with Russia again. He had to fight for his own pride. But the question that was constantly present was if it was worth it to fight. Germany had likely already turned on him, on that Russia was probably correct. There was nowhere to run, and fighting was going to be painful. The only reason he had left was for his own pride. That would have to be enough for now. But he could feel it slipping.

 

* * *

Russia walked out of the room, his mind racing, his body telling him to go back. He wanted to let himself hold Prussia and merge with him again. But, this was not like the first time. It would mean something to him, but it wouldn't mean enough to Prussia. Without the submission, Prussia would be able to deny it again. Russia had been a fool to hope that sex had changed anything between them, but his naivete had been corrected by the albino's denial. He would not let Prussia use him, not again.

So, he continued walking away from the room. But that wanton, breathy moan rang through his head. He could still see that cruel, sexy smirk that had curled across the albino's face. In that moment, he had seen his communist state beneath that Nazi facade. He need only strip away the loyalty to that ideology and replace it with his own. The strict discipline and lack of regret or remorse would be useful to him in keeping the rest of the communist states in line.

Russia could see it in his mind's eye already, Prussia could be his soldier and his lover. But, until he could break through that discipline, he would be getting nowhere. He continued to walk away from the basement, despite the way every fiber of his mind wanted to go back. If Prussia's discipline would not break, neither could his. There was a part of his mind that was telling him he was not doing enough. He had to find some new way to break through. Pain was not enough. It was in the softer moments that he could see the albino melting, but he always pulled back.

Russia continued to walk, making his way through the house until he reached a door that opened outwards onto a balcony. There was a restrained decadence to this house, even this city, that spoke of Prussia's days as an empire. Russia opened the door and stepped out. From here, he could see the entirety of the city. For a moment, it was still hard to believe that it belonged to him. This had always been such a strong seat of power, but now it lay before him desperate and wounded.

He smiled to himself as the thought crossed his mind. It was just like the country it was the heart of. But, Prussia was not yet desperate enough; he still had his pride. Russia ran one hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He was alone now, so he could show this frustration. He needed to be confident and certain, otherwise Prussia would see the cracks. But, why couldn't he break this man? It had been so easy with the Baltics, but that hadn't carried the same weight. His mind floated back in time to a different place and a conversation that reminded him why this was critical. It had been so long ago and they had both been younger.

* * *

 

Russia took a step outside onto the balcony as the conference continued. His monarch was a very capable woman and did not need him present to make decisions. He still felt terribly self conscious on such a public stage. He knew it was necessary to speak with all the countries that had taken part in the Seven Year War, but all of them were such strong personalities. It was disorienting for Russia, who had only been dealing with a few neighboring countries up to this point. He was not ready to be faced with France, England, Prussia, and Austria at once. He needed this moment out of the fray to center himself.

Catherine always told him to be strong, to show no fear or weakness, in the face of his enemies and allies. Now that this war was over, none of them were technically his enemy anymore. This war had been both complicated and political, but it was finally over. Russia let out a small sigh and walked closer to the railing of the balcony. He just wanted this to be over so he could return to St. Petersburg.

A voice sounded behind him, "This is not where negotiations are happening, Russland." Russia turned to see the country who had been both his enemy and his ally. Prussia looked splendid in his dark blue coat, glorious plumage adorning the hat that was tucked under his arm. He walked with a strength that Russia would not have expected. Most of his lands had been taken from him at points during the war, and that must have left deep wounds. And yet, it was impossible to tell from the way that the albino carried himself. He appeared to be completely unfazed. It was amazing to see how a man who had not only sustained, but triumphed in, a war that should have destroyed him appeared so strong.

It was hard to find the right words to respond to Prussia. What was it that custom and courtesy dictated? He did not know, so he responded, "I needed a moment of fresh air." In truth, he had sought to escape the machinations of politics. But, the answer was acceptably cryptic.  
Prussia smiled to himself, but it was a look that Russia had never seen before, "Yes, the air is thick with intrigue."

He took another step forward. Russia was not certain how to interpret it. It could be a cordial, or it could be hostile. He knew that Prussia could be aggressive, but that wasn't what the gesture communicated. The albino spoke again, "But that is the way of politics. Once the fighting is over, the vultures descend." The words were strangely frank, even bitter. But, it had an insight that Russia couldn't help but admire.

He spoke without thinking to measure his words, "But you haven't really lost anything." It was true. Prussia had not ended with less land than he started with, despite how many countries had sided against him.   
The albino scoffed, "Only because my King was brilliant enough to keep them at bay." He stopped for a moment and then smiled as he looked directly at Russia.

The Russian felt his heart flutter. Another man had never looked at him like that, and it aroused a feeling in him that was completely new. That was the way young courtiers looked at Catherine. Prussia spoke again, and the words validated the look, "Your decision to join me instead of fighting with them was invaluable and I thank you for it."

Russia felt heat rise in his cheeks, and he was certain it couldn't be anything but flush. Flustered, he responded, "I admired your strength. The rest, they're not like you." Prussia took the compliment with little more than a smile. But Russia still felt a new alluring excitement. He wished he could be as brazen as his Empress. She wouldn't hesitate with a chance like this. She would get exactly what she wanted with no qualms.

Then an unbidden thought crossed his mind: His Empress was Prussian by birth. Could the country of her birth share her appetites? The flush in his cheeks deepened. The albino responded, turning as he spoke, "Be sure to remember that. I will always forge my own path. Fritz will be needing me soon, he shouldn't deal with Maria Theresa alone." With that, he walked back into the negotiations. Russia still felt his heart thundering as he watched the man leave, half-imagined fantasies populating the periphery of his mind.

* * *

 

Russia ran his hand through his hair again as the memory passed. He had been a boy then, hardly ready to be a power in Europe and everyone had taken advantage of him. But, that conversation had always stuck with him. That undeniable strength of Prussia, which only bent to thank an ally, had been something to admire. Now that strength was frustrating him.

He remembered the advice that Catherine had given him when he told her about the interaction. She had said, "He is a military country. I can give you advice on military men: Their lives are full of control and discipline. In the bedroom, men want what they don't have, and military men crave helplessness. In my experience, they love a woman who will dominate them and ride them like a warhorse."

At the time, he had not taken the advice seriously. It had not made sense to him that strong, determined Prussia would want to be dominated. Now, centuries later, he was finally taking that advice. The single night he had so far had been marvelous and he had gleaned important information from it. She had been more than correct. There was no denying it, Prussia was a masochist. Enough pain and control turned the albino pliable and horney. It wasn't just a matter of control, it was more than that.

Even without the attraction he already felt, Russia couldn't deny that this was perfect. His own sadistic streak ran deep and it craved a masochist to use. It was even better that this masochist was the country who had always intrigued him. Russia could see that the situation was perfect, but Gilbert would still not oblige him and concede. Well, he had to find a new strategy. Just pain would not be enough to turn Prussia. It would not be as easy as it had been with the Baltics. He had business to deal with for a few days in Moscow and when he returned he would know exactly what to do.


	9. Chapter 9

Time passed in absolute silence and darkness. It was impossible to tell how long it had been. There was nothing but the oppressive darkness that pressed in on him, forcing Prussia deeper into his own mind. There thoughts emerged freely, threatening to undermine all the discipline that kept him resisting. Prussia felt like he was going mad trapped inside his own thoughts. They would not let him simply have peace.

He repeatedly let his mind dwell on Russia's promise. Could he really sate his ambition? He had no doubt that Russia had the strength to do exactly as he promised, the war had shown that the country was capable of inflicting massive damage even when he himself was wounded. But, the question was whether Prussia embraced Russia to have that strength. That was a dangerous prospect, but it held onto his mind and grew like a parasite.

He tried not to listen to the thoughts that told him that his own pride would be a small price to pay for both the sensation and the power he craved. In this state of helplessness, Prussia longed all the more to have power to impose his will again. At the height of the war he had been drunk, even giddy with power. He argued within himself, trying to defuse the ambition or convince himself the promise was impossible. But, the part of his mind that still clung to Nazi ideology was slowly fading away, becoming quieter with every sweet word Russia spoke to him.

There was no real reason to hate communism, only what years of opposition had ingrained into him. But, he was a country and he should be able to change ideology when it suited him. Prussia shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the inevitable end of this logic. He would not become communist, no matter how little the transition would actually mean. He need only remind himself that becoming a communist state meant following the lead of the Soviet Union without question. That he could not do.

The memory of the feeling of Russia's hands against him threatened to derail even this objection. Was it not a lover's duty to submit? The only measure Prussia had of how much time was passing was the amount of pain in his shoulders, which only increased with time. It had started as only a feeling of tiredness and progressed from a dull ache to pain, and the pain was constant. Now they throbbed, making it impossible to ignore even for the treasonous thoughts in the pain. He was gritting his teeth to deal with the pain, but the muscles in his jaw were making it clear that they objected to how often he was using this technique to deal with pain. There was nothing to distract him from the pain, nothing in his field of vision or even whispering sweetly in his ear. As much as he loathed to admit it, Prussia was beginning to miss Russia's presence. It gave him something to resist and reminded him why he couldn't surrender. If only Russia would return, they could continue their conflict.

The vast silence that surrounded him was broken by the sound of the door opening. Prussia immediately reacted to it with more joy than he dared to admit. Russia was back and he couldn't deny the excitement that he felt at the prospect. He didn't want to feel it, but it bloomed in his chest and made his heart flutter all the same. It was the prospect of that voice, that touch, both caressing and corrupting him. Prussia told himself that he did not long for it, but that was beginning to feel more and more like a lie. However, the excitement began to evaporate as he listened.

There was something off. The footsteps were lighter and less self-assured. They walked across the room, although it was harder to tell without the ringing clarity. Prussia understood what the difference meant. Either something had changed with Russia, or this was somebody else. There was a chance that if it was another person, they would help to relieve some of the pain. Prussia didn't dare to hope for that; he had very few friends left in the world. Unless they spoke, he had no indication of who they were.

He felt hands brush against his face, but not with the seductive assurance of Russia's. These hands shook slightly as they accidentally touched him. The flesh was warm, not puzzlingly cold like Russia. Prussia was suddenly overwhelmed by searing white light. The world had gone from black to blindingly bright. It was immediately clear that the blindfold had been removed, and Prussia's eyes were not ready for it. Whatever light was in the room seemed so much brighter after so much time in darkness. Prussia blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden light. It took a few minutes for him to be able to even make out shapes in the brightness.

Finally, he looked at the person who had removed the blindfold. The blurry form began to solidify as Prussia's eyes adjusted to the bright light. He recognized the mousy brown hair and the green eyes, although the person in front of him could be friend or foe. It was hard to decide how to interpret Lithuania's presence. He spoke, realizing as he did so how hoarse his voice sounded, "Toris?"

Lithuania responded, "Yes, Gilbert. Ivan seems to think you need some time alone." The Baltic man's voice was alarmingly flat with only slight inflections. It was unnerving to hear words spoken with so little emotion. However, what he said made sense. If Russia truly wanted to deprive the albino, he would have to avoid any actual contact. This would allow Prussia to pine for him just for some company, which had been exactly what had been happening. The removal of the blindfold must be a breach of instruction. Russia wouldn't have allowed this human contact.

Prussia immediately countered, not entirely sure how to read the other's flat tone, "Then why are you talking to me?" Lithuania took a step backwards and his expression remained unreadable. Being able to hide his emotions like this must be an acquired skill from living in the Soviet Union. As Prussia had experienced, Russia could use any emotion to his advantage.

Thus, Lithuania let none slip through. He said, his aspect still flat, "I am not well behaved." Then his expression slipped, turning into a look of sickening amusement, "How the mighty fall. Not feeling like the top of the racial order now, are you?" His tone indicated his complete contempt. To this Prussia reacted. He immediately readied himself for the fight. He would not let a Baltic state, too weak to even resist Russia, find amusement in his plight. He would not be derided for continuing to fight instead of passively taking orders.

He growled, "I'm still better than you, coward." Lithuania's expression hardened again. Prussia felt a measure of triumph. He was getting Lithuania to react, even though the man was so used to hiding from Russia. Lithuania took a step forward, getting closer to Prussia again.  
His voice remained firm but Prussia could see the slight quiver in his hands, "You aren't sorry, are you?"

The question seemed very strange, and Prussia was not certain what to say in response to it. He had nothing to apologize to Lithuania for. He had done nothing nothing he regretted. No single event came to mind for which he would feel even slightly inclined to be repentant to Lithuania. He said, mustering as much contempt as he could, "For what?"

This response made Lithuania recoil, the look on his face shifting to disgust, "I welcomed you with open arms. I thought you were going to save me from Ivan. You repaid me by torturing the man I love." Then it made sense. This was about the war. This was about Poland. At the moment, Prussia couldn't muster any response but anger. This was not the time or the place to have this argument. Lithuania was obviously assuming that because he was in a vulnerable position, he would beg forgiveness. Prussia recognized that this was the strategy of a man who didn't have the courage to face him while he had strength. Lithuania was showing himself, yet again, to be a coward. Prussia would not beg, especially not to a man so inferior to him. Even if he had some regret about his part in the war, he was not going to share it with Lithuania. Those were his own demons, and they were the same ones that urged him to accept Russia's offer.

He responded, his teeth still clenched, "You were naive. I never promised you I would do anything to help you. Did you just come here to lecture me?" His clear lack of remorse was obviously inflaming Lithuania's temper. But, the Baltic man's control was amazing. It was clear that he was used to having to hide what he thought around Russia.  
His voice had taken on the original flatness again, rejecting all of the ways Prussia was antagonizing him, "No, actually I was sent to feed you."

He gestured to a plate of food that was sitting abandoned on a table. He then turned back to Prussia and said, "Ivan is being so gentle with you. He would let any of the rest of us starve." To this, Prussia had to object. The pain that he was going through was not gentle treatment. His shoulders were burning as they spoke, confirming that Russia was not being kinder to him.  
He said, barely concealing how angry the insinuation was making him, "Do you even know what he's done to me?"

Lithuania scoffed in turn, "He hurts you only when he must. The rest of the time, he feels you up and seduces you. If it were any of the rest of us, we would be black and blue." This was news to Prussia, who had assumed that Russia was doing the worst he could possibly come up with. But, now that the other had said it, he realized that these lashes had not been much for the crime of desertion, for what he had said. Every time Russia hit him, it was with an open hand, which caused far less damage to his face than a fist. In hindsight, none of what had happened thus far had been that extreme. Were he not attracted to Russia, he would not have trouble resisting.

But that did not make sense. He had wounded Russia more deeply than anyone else. Puzzled, Prussia spoke the question that appeared in his mind with no expectation that Lithuania was going to respond, "But, why?" The only answer he could come up with could not be right. Russia could not care for him, not after what he had done.  
But, Lithuania responded to the question all the same, "He says you're special. I think he sees himself in you."

He paused for only a moment to rake his eyes over Prussia's body one more time, his green eyes cold. Then he added, spite becoming perfectly clear in his voice, "You're both sick, and you deserve each other." He intended it to be intimidating, but Prussia felt a phantom smile twitch on his lip. With that, Lithuania turned and walked over to the plate, which had been neglected through the conversation.

Once he reached it, he stopped. He glanced back at Prussia with a slight smile. With one deliberate motion, he knocked the plate off the table. It smashed on the floor, food flying in every direction. Lithuania looked back and said, "Oh, clumsy me. It looks like you're going to have to starve the same way you made Felix starve." Without another word, he left the room, leaving only a tension hanging in the air.

Once Lithuania was gone, Prussia descended into thought again. He wasn't certain how long it had last been since he had eaten, but he was aware of hunger. However, he had survived the end of the war on meager rations, and being hungry wasn't bothering him. Anger was overwhelming him though, its caustic power infecting his every thought. The anger came from the display of impudence directed at him. He never would have take that sort of disrespect before, but he didn't have the power right now. He wanted to hurt Lithuania for insulting him, wanted to make the man beg for his forgiveness.

But, aside from the insults, something else the other had said was ringing in his ears. Was Russia really giving him special treatment? If that was the case, the glimmers of affection he had seen in Russia may be real. That he had not considered, but the thought was exceptionally dangerous. It was one thing to think of Russia as a potential lover, that could be avoided. But to think of him as a potential partner was another. Prussia wondered if it would be worth it to simply accept the affection and to return it. But he couldn't trust Lithuania. He couldn't trust that anything he said was true. Russia had every right to hate Prussia. The destruction at Stalingrad was enough to guarantee that, even without the fact that it had been a betrayal.

The albino took the opportunity of having the blindfold removed to look around the room that he was in. This room he recognized, it was a bunker that had been built in case of the bombing of Berlin. It was grey brick room built to be sturdy, not comfortable. However, the rigging to hold Prussia in this position was new. He looked up at his own hands, partially to assure himself that they were still there.

He had long since lost feeling in them, and looking at them now confirmed that they were exceptionally pale, even slightly blue. If he was mortal, this would have caused significant nerve damage. But, the pain in his arms and shoulders was more pressing considering that his immortality meant he could recover from almost anything. It was burning pain, and it would only intensify with time. But, it would be welcome to distract him from what was still haunting him. Did Russia really think that he was special? He couldn't answer that until the Russian returned.


	10. Chapter 10

Prussia passed into fitful, painful sleep. His head lolled back, allowing him a somewhat comfortable position to fall asleep in. He was in a state of half-consciousness when he heard in his ear, "Gil."  
His half-awake brain recognized the voice, and he responded, still not completely conscious of what he was saying, "Ivan."

The soft feeling of a hand against his face woke him. He immediately regretted the soft tone his voice had taken when he had answered. He hoped that Russia had not noticed it, although he knew he wouldn't be that fortunate. His voice was now nearly gone. His vocal chords had not weathered the fights and yelling with no rest or water. The quiet hoarse whisper had, if anything, amplified the sound of relief. Russia confirmed this when he said with a smile, "Have you missed me?"

Prussia searched the expression, attempting to find the emotion behind it. He told himself that the look on Russia's face was a sneer, born only from the joy of dominance and control. It wasn't a smile, there couldn't be sweetness behind it. Prussia responded, "Better you than one of your lackeys." If his voice had not been so strained, he might have sounded intimidating, but as it was there was barely confidence in it. He looked directly in the other's eyes, and immediately realized how much he had missed the color while he had been. It was so deep, so complex. There was something soft in the back of that endless violet.

Prussia looked away from Russia's face, unable to continue searching those eyes. If he kept staring he would fall into them and never be able to claw his way back out. The look he had seen in the eyes manifested itself in the words, "I underestimated how much Toris dislikes you."  
His anger still heavy on his mind, Prussia responded, "Have you punished him?"

This time the expression that appeared on Russia's face was a smirk, but it wasn't of amusement. It was something else, something like curiosity. The Russian responded, "What would you have me do to him?"  
The feeling of unrestrained anger swelled in the albino, urging him to say exactly what he would do to Lithuania. But, there was a meek voice of reason in his head that he shouldn't take this bait. He didn't know how Russia could use this against him.

He said, "I'd beat him, and if that didn't make an impact, I would threaten his little boy toy." Prussia felt a smile on his lips. He was not even attempting to hide his dark side, not caring if Russia could see it.  
But, the words echoed in his head, especially when Russia's smile seemed to widen, "He sees himself in you."

Prussia couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason for this question. Did Russia want to see if his answer affirmed that they were both capable of the same kind of cruelty? If so, then there was no way to deny it. They were the same in that respect, and alone in it. Few other countries thought as they did, Prussia realized that in this moment. For him, it was a merely a question of discipline. What appeared to be cruel in war was necessity, but few understood that. Europe had always declared him a tyrant, an example of the extreme.

Russia's hand went back to his face, the glove still impeding actual skin to skin contact. Prussia felt his face being tilted up, but it was gentle. He decided to lock his eyes on the other's, even though he knew the effect they would have on him. Russia spoke, his voice oddly soft, "How very cruel of you."  
Prussia felt himself bristle, although this did not sound like a rebuke. Still, it would not be cruel. It would be punishment for what Lithuania had said to him, and for the disobedience. He responded on instinct, from wounded pride, "You condemn me for my answer. What would you do?"

His anger seemed to have little impact on Russia who continued to smile in a way that appeared almost tender. The Russian responded, "Exactly the same and I already have." A strange shiver raced down Prussia's spine. This concession, combined with the look in those violet eyes, triggered an unexpected realization. In this they were the same, there was understanding. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. But, it wasn't uncomfortable silence, nor was it laced with the usual tension. Where had that vanished to? Why didn't Prussia feel like striking out or resisting?

He couldn't answer that for himself. The silence was only broken when Russia stepped away and walked around him. Prussia, unconscious of his own actions, immediately looked around to try to see where the other was going. It became clear when Prussia felt a soft touch against his back, tracing the marks that the whip had left. Then Russia spoke, his voice coming close in the albino's ear, "I don't condemn you. I understand discipline."

As he spoke he ran a wet cloth down Prussia's back, cleaning the wounds. This was the second time he had done this, but now it felt different. Prussia was not seeing this as deception. Had what Lithuania said really changed his view that much? Russia continued talking, "The world is cruel, we both know that. People need to be governed" He paused for a moment, and then continued, "But they don't understand. Alfred is a spoiled child, who will never know how it feels to struggle."

The words brought back old memories of when Russia had been little more than a boy under the thumb of the Golden Horde. Prussia's own memories from that time were only slightly less bleak. He had been a small order of knights, just trying to stay alive, desperate, alone, disowned by his father. The memories were not pleasant. He had built himself up since then and sworn never to look back. Prussia looked over his shoulder and met Russia's eyes. He had wanted to say something harsh, something to contradict what Russia was saying. But, as he met those eyes, he didn't see the communist tyrant he was attempting to fight; he saw the child who had been so abused by the Golden Horde. Whatever fighting words he had died in his throat.

He said instead, "Do you think that makes us the same?" He was attempting to again to be hostile, to do anything that would put space between them again. They were too close, too soft. Prussia felt himself longing for the pure antagonism, wishing he could distance himself again. His heart was pounding in his chest, not just from the touch. In truth, they were barely touching at all. The albino's blood was thick with a feeling of compassion, even some alien affection. He had to stop himself.

But, none of these feelings were touched his voice as he made one more effort to reestablish enmity and said, "We are nothing alike."  
Russia recoiled and immediately abandoned his task of cleaning the albino's wounds. He walked around the other again, and once they were face to face again, he said, "You're only fighting yourself." His voice was cold, but his eyes communicated pain. For a moment Prussia felt the strangest desire to apologize. He immediately dismissed it as only a result of the pain in his shoulders and his state of hunger and dehydration.

Russia looked directly at him and seemed to guess at the conflict. He immediately preyed on it, stepping forward as he spoke, "But I should do something to apologize for Toris's behavior." He gestured to someone behind him, just out of sight and all of the tension went out of the chains, allowing Prussia's hands to fall. He let out a groan at the sudden relief. He immediately collapsed to his knees on the floor. He did care how pathetic he looked, literally on his knees right in front of Russia.

The Russian spoke, amusement obvious in his voice, "You can kiss my boots while you're down there."  
Prussia hissed back, looking up, "No way in Hell."  
Russia smirked and said, "I believe you said you would never be on your knees for me. And yet, here you are."

He kneeled down and reached out and grabbed Prussia's chin. He spoke again, "Go ahead and fight, Gil, but I will win eventually." He then released the albino and hooked his hand between Prussia's cuffs, then used this position to pull the albino forward. At the same time, he shifted his weight backwards so that he went from kneeling to sitting, with Prussia comfortably in his lap. The albino felt his heart skip a beat at the sudden shift to this intimate position.

Part of his mind longed to claim the other's lips with his own, to not let Russia leave him alone again. Russia spoke, his voice taking off the same softness, "Can you feel your hands?" Prussia was surprised at the question and had to look down at his hand to see that both of Russia's hands were on his own. There was no sensation in the flesh. They had been above his head too long and no longer had blood flow.

He responded with the only honest answer, "No." There was no way to lie his way out of it, the fact that he couldn't feel Russia's hands against his own was undeniable. He kept looking at the other's hands, wondering how the Russian was going to use this information. For a moment, he wondered if he had just conceded weakness. It was fascinating when the gloved thumbs started making circles in the numb flesh, trying to encourage blood to flow back into the hands.

Prussia then looked back up at Russia's face, and realized that the other was looking directly at him. He could see Lithuania's words echoed in those eyes, "He thinks you're special." He couldn't deny that he saw affection there. It was terrifying. Russia returned the affection, not just the attraction, that he had been wrestling to rid himself of. Prussia couldn't accept that, couldn't let that be true.

Russia began to speak again, "You don't have to fight me. Just give yourself to me." Prussia felt blood returning to his hands, starting with the wrist. But, the words returned, the ones to which he could not consent. He could not give up his pride. He opened his mouth to object and Russia put a single finger to his lips. He said, "You don't have to humble yourself to anyone else. Just give yourself to me here, no one is watching. Your pride will not suffer."

Prussia ignored the finger that had silenced him. Russia did not command him. He snapped back, "I would be no better than Toris and I will not be like that coward. I will not be your puppet to fuck and discard when it serves you." The anger came from the only shreds of resistance he could hold together. He had to be strong, not just for his own pride but because of what he meant to his brother. He couldn't let Germany see him cave or break. He had to be strong for Ludwig, there was no other option. Even with attraction to Russia eating away at his mind, he couldn't give in.

The feeling had returned to the entirety of his hands, which was fortunate because Russia's hands immediately abandoned their task. One of Russia's hands went to Prussia's hair and the other held firmly to the cuffs. He pulled back the albino's head so that his neck was strained. Russia spoke directly in Prussia's ear, "You're lying. You like being my little pet."

His voice was rough, possessive. The albino groaned, he knew that he was lying, but he had to be able to hold this resistance. Russia added, "And I have only started to discover what your body can do." To punctuate the statement, Russia ran his hand over the half-healed bite marks on the white skin of the other's neck. The touch, like the voice, was very sound of Russia's voice was eliciting a reaction that Prussia was not in control of. The accented voice sounded of absolute confidence and control. He had a strong desire to grind down against the other until Russia grabbed him and dominated him. But, his mind was controlling his body firmly for now.

The other continued in his ear, anger slipping into the seductive tone, "Why do you cling to those who do not care for you?" Prussia growled in the back of his throat. It was an immediate reaction to what he suspected Russia was about to say. He knew there was only one direction that that comment could go and he denied it. But Russia responded with a hard tug on the white hair, sending more discomfort down Prussia's neck. He then continued speaking, "I didn't hear your precious little brother object to your valiant offer."

Prussia immediately responded his protective instinct kicking in, "Don't speak about him. You don't know him." He would allow himself to be corrupted and teased, but he would not allow his brother to be impugned. He had seen Germany's reaction to the decision, and he knew that his brother had been hurt.  
Russia laughed, but there was a bitterness in it, "Did he tell you that he'd miss you? If that was true, he wouldn't have let you go so easily. He abandoned you, Gil."

This lie Prussia would not accept. The memory of the look on his brother's face when he had left with Russia was burned into his mind. But, the words rang uncomfortably true. It had been Austria who had objected in front of the Allies, not Germany. He told himself that his brother had been in shock, there was no other reason for his silence. But, Russia's words rang in his ears, slightly too close to reality. Russia continued as he saw a pained expression pass over the other's face, "Even if he did care then, he's lost to you now. Alfred will negate everything you ever taught him."

The hate that had been created in their conversation at the gate roared to life again. Prussia cursed it for being there, so easily commanded into existence by Russia. But, he couldn't deny that the hate tasted acrid on his tongue. His jaw clenched, expressing his hate physically. He said, hardly caring if Russia heard him, "If he lays a single finger on Ludwig, I'll-" He stopped himself, unwilling to level threats without thinking of the consequences. He couldn't touch America, especially not from this position. But the idea of losing Germany forever hurt, more than Prussia dared to admit. He had raised Germany, and he could not be without him.

This was the kind of pain Russia couldn't inflict with his needles or whips. This was the kind of pain that went deeper and struck at the core of Prussia's being. He felt a single tear roll down his cheek, betraying what he was feeling. The hand in his hair moved to his cheek and gently brush away the tear. Free to move his neck again, the albino looked back at Russia, whose expression had not softened. But, there was also no trace of triumph in the other's face. The touch had been light.

When Russia spoke, there was still authority in his voice, "I hate him too, but we make him pay for everything he has taken." Prussia felt the corner of his mouth twitch up at the corner. The emotions were conflicting and confusing, but the hatred was strong. He should have objected to the use of we, should have kept himself distant. But, he said nothing about it. Instead Russia stroked his cheek. Prussia felt those violet eyes looking straight into him, seeing through him, and undoing him. They could see what he deeply, secretly wanted.

The revelation that had been building through the encounter finally took form in Prussia's mind. Everything Lithuania had said was true. He couldn't allow himself to be happy that this was true. He didn't want special treatment, not from Russia. He rallied his resistance and aggression and formed a denial, "I will not become a communist for you. Don't think your empty promises will make me a Bolshevik whore."

Like clockwork, Russia hardened. In a single motion, he pushed Prussia off his lap. Unable to steady himself with his hands, Prussia fell gracelessly on his back. The hard ground sent pain shooting through his shoulders. The albino let out a short breath, reacting to the impact. Before he could react to the change in position, Russia was on top of him. A knife appeared at his throat. Any thought of attempting to fight back had to be suppressed with a blade at his throat. He took deep, slow breaths attempting to calm himself. Russia spoke as he pressed the flat of the blade even more firmly into Prussia's flesh, not yet using the edge, "You chose the hard way. Submit now or I will slit your throat."

Prussia responded in a hiss, "You wouldn't kill me." Russia smirked, but there was something hollow in his expression. But for some intangible reason, Prussia was certain he was right. There was something between them, be it attraction or lust.  
Russia responded, this time pressing the edge of the knife in just enough to draw blood, "And why wouldn't I?" The pain of the cut was not significant, but Prussia clenched his jaw against it all the same.  
He already had a retort prepared, "You would miss me."

It was both an attempt at wit and what Prussia suspected to be true. Russia didn't kill him at the end of the war, when the hate between them had been the strongest. He certainly wouldn't be able to do it now. Russia's smirk slipped for a moment. However, the facade slipped back into place seamlessly. He moved his hand from Prussia's neck down his side. He said, "And why would I miss what isn't mine? If you are going to resist me, then why should I keep you?"

It seemed to be a rhetorical question, but Prussia could hear a strange strain in it. The albino replied with his own smirk, "Then do it if you can." To make his point, he stretched out his neck, like he was inviting Russia to end him. It was a gamble, but Prussia knew that he could afford it. The other didn't respond. But he moved his knife away from Prussia's throat.

In a single motion, he slashed through the albino's pale chest. The skin was mostly healed from the earlier torture, but the pain was sudden and staggering. Prussia groaned as the pain hit him. But, he forced himself to smile and say, "Is that all you've got?"  
Russia shook his head and said, finally responding to Prussia's provocation, "Don't push me, Nazi."

The albino wasn't backing down, not even with a knife against his chest. He responded through his clenched teeth, "Do your worst." Russia's eyes narrowed as he realized how transparent the bait was.  
Instead of taking it, he said, "What did Toris say to you?" The contempt in his voice was palpable. It was not directed at Prussia, it was directed at the man who had ruined his plan. His tone indicated that whatever punishment Lithuania had endured so far was not going to be the end.

Prussia had no reason to protect the Baltic nation, but to reveal what Lithuania had told him would be dangerous. It would make it clear that Prussia was wavering because of a poisonous affection. For his own sake, the albino could not admit to that. He couldn't make it clear that he was beginning to see himself deep within those violet eyes. He couldn't say that his own heart was realizing that it was glad that Russia did not want to hurt him. He wanted Russia to punish him, to hurt him, to make this taboo affection vanish.

He resolutely clenched his jaw and refused to let a single word of truth out. Russia's eyes board into him, urging him to tell everything. For a moment he forgot why he shouldn't. Then he turned his head and looked away.

In response, Russia leaned back away from him and said, "It will be easier to get it out of Toris anyway. When I know, I'll come back to you." With that, he stood up, grabbing the chain that connected to the other's wrists as he did so. Prussia had no choice but to stand or to have his sore shoulders taxed by having his hands over his head again. He stood as Russia stood, their bodies still close together.

Prussia could feel blood rolling down his chest from the cut, but the pain was already fading. Once they were both standing, Russia grabbed the albino's chin roughly. He smirked, "You're losing, Gil. I can see it and you can feel it."

He ran the other hand down Prussia's face. He continued to smirk and added, "Soon you'll wonder why you fought me." Then, without any warning, he pulled the albino into a kiss. Without thinking, Prussia opened his mouth and let Russia's tongue penetrate deep into his mouth. Not satisfied, Russia pressed his thumb into the fresh cut across the other's chest. Prussia gasped at the pain radiating from the spot, and Russia took advantage of it to force his tongue even deeper into the other's mouth. Prussia felt like the other was going so deep that he was consuming him, taking parts of him with each caress of the other's tongue against his palate. If his hands had been free, he wasn't sure if he would use them to push Russia away or bury them in the Russian's hair. But from this position, Prussia was offering no resistance.

Russia pulled away, raking his teeth across the albino's lower lip. When he pulled away, still smirking, Russia put his thumb to his mouth. Keeping his eyes fixed on the albino, he licked the blood slowly from his thumb. There was something horribly arousing about the action. It was intensified by the words that followed it, "You will break soon, and you already know it."

It was all Prussia could do to respond with a single word, "Never." Russia smiled and pulled on the chain, which forced Prussia even closer to him.  
He continued to smirk and said softly, "Keep lying to yourself. We'll see how long that will last." He turned and walked towards the door again. Prussia had to muster the willpower not to take a few steps after him. He didn't want to be left alone again, but to follow Russia would be to concede defeat. Instead, he sunk back to his knees, finally letting his battered body rest.


	11. Chapter 11

Russia walked out of the room again with the same feeling of frustration that he had had last time. He had insisted that he was winning out of self-delusion. He had to let Prussia know that he was still confident. If Prussia saw him weaken, if only for a moment, then he would take advantage of the situation.

But the truth was he knew he wasn't winning. Prussia would bend, that was true. With each attempt, Russia was able to bend him a little more. This last time he had bent even farther and shown cracks for a moment. But, he was not broken. Like a strong switch, he could bend far but would always snap back. And each time he straightened, it was with more force and certainty. His defiance was completely intact. He still denied every command for submission, even in the face of threats. He valued nothing as strongly as he valued his pride.

Russia found himself at a loss as to what to do now. He had exhausted every strategy that had been effective before with lesser men, lesser countries. Pain only excited Prussia. He could not be moved with promises of power, and he wouldn't bend even to save his own life. Russia shook his head. He needed some way to pry away that shell of discipline and then he could mold the mind beneath. There was so much raw potential, but Russia couldn't use it yet. He knew that Prussia was exactly what he needed to hold the Soviet Union together.

He walked with no direction, hoping that he would find something to give him a clue as to what to try next. The halls had to be hiding secrets. This house should be the key, the place that meant the most to Prussia. However, he could come to no solution. He did not know what to look for, what to try. Never had he been at such a problematic impasse with any of his past satellites.

So, he continued to walk, attempting to find anything he could latch onto. He errantly thought as he turned another corner that for a man who had barely had any portraits painted, there were certainly a lot of pictures of Friedrich the Great. They seemed to adorn every room and every hall. Even when he looked out the window, he could see the distant statue of Friedrich the Great astride a horse.

He stopped in front of a large equestrian painting and stared at it. He could not deny that his own home had once been decorated with portraits of his past leaders before the revolution, but there was still something off about this. There were no portraits of other past kings. This one alone was ubiquitous.

A very old rumor came to mind, one he had ignored at the time. It had never been a secret that the Prussian king had had different sexual appetites, but the rumor was that Prussia himself had spent time in his king's bed. That, according to rumor, was why Austria had been so ardently opposed to any move the Prussian king made. At the time, Russia had been mired in the sexual politics of his own monarch and had paid little heed to rumors. But now he couldn't help but wonder if it was more than a rumor. If it was true, then it would certainly explain all these portraits. In some measure, it also explain Prussia's lack of romantic partners since.

Russia stood in front of the painting for a moment, searching the features of a man long dead to see if those rumors were really true. Had those blue eyes, immortalized now in brush strokes, looked adoringly on Prussia? Russia couldn't decide if the thought intrigued or disgusted him. It wasn't possible, he told himself, to be jealous of a man who was already dead. But, there was still an irritating feeling of anger that all these paintings evoked. Could he use this against Prussia now?

His thought was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He turned to see Lithuania standing next to him, shaking and staring at the ground. If the man dared look at him, it would trigger new anger. Russia had not forgiven him for whatever he had said to Prussia. But, Russia knew that if the other had sought him out, then it must be important.

However, Lithuania was not going to speak out of turn in his presence. So, Russia prompted him, "What is it, Toris?" His tone left no doubt that he wanted to be told all the details of whatever was so pressing.  
Lithuania immediately said, with his eyes still firmly on Russia's boots, "Alfred is on the phone and he refuses to stop calling until he speaks to you. I tried to get rid of him, but he keeps calling"

The mention of America's name immediately ignited a fire of rage in the pit of Russia's stomach. The boy was annoyingly confident and impudent. He dared to command Russia to talk to him. Russia balled one hand into a fist. He had no desire to speak to his enemy, but if America was being so persistent then it was necessary to answer his call if only to get rid of him. This would only be a small distraction from the important task at hand anyway, and it could give his mind a reprieve to find a solution. So, he responded, "I will speak to him then." With that, he turned away from the puzzling painting and walked down the hallway, leaving all the thoughts of Prussia's king behind him with the portrait.

Once he reached the office, he found the phone laid on its side to keep the line open, and when he picked it up America was on the other end. It must have taken Lithuania very little time to find him if America's short attention span hadn't expired yet. Russia had expected the boy to be too bored to wait for him. He started the conversation, "What do you want, Alfred?"

He did not mean to have any respect for Alfred. The boy deserved none, even with the fighting he had done in the Pacific. If he hadn't been there, Russia would have taken care of Japan himself. He had been ready to do it. America was little more than an annoyance. An annoyance with nuclear capabilities. Soon enough, Russia knew he would have the same capability. All of Russia's satellite states knew that now that the third reich was defeated, America was the primary enemy. He could see that Prussia was truly beginning to hate America.

Russia could hear the aggravated exhale in response to the blunt question. However, America responded with as much tact as he was capable of, "Like it or not, we need to speak to each other. We need to arrange to reunify Germany." The answer was so presumptuous that Russia couldn't help but laugh to himself. America thought he could order Russia, an older and stronger country, around.

Russia had no intention of complying. He had only agreed to the plan to eventually unify Germany to avoid the argument that may have revealed his intentions for Prussia. America had insisted that Russia could not have Prussia because the military capabilities would be too valuable. But, Prussia's offer to be East Germany had solved that problem. Now he had Prussia, and he was not fooled that America's push to reunify was a ploy to take Prussia away from him. Russia had never intended to return East Germany to the capitalist fold. He wanted to keep Prussia with him as long as he possibly could, forever if he could become the sole world power. That was not out of the realm of possibilities. America was the only one who stood in his way.

He responded, keeping his response intentionally evasive, "Has Ludwig already repented for his part in the war? I find it hard to believe you have punished him enough." He could imagine the way that Alfred recoiled at the icy tone of his voice. Everyone recoiled exactly the same way. Everyone except for Prussia. The albino showed no fear and seemed to see straight through Russia's intentionally cold facade. That was one of the reasons Russia longed for him. Those red eyes were the only ones that consistently met his own.

He had no doubt that America had let Ludwig go with only a scolding. That was not enough. Germany was more responsible for the war than Prussia, so he should get no less than what Prussia was getting now. If it was up to Russia, he would force Germany to take the brunt of it. However, he knew that America wasn't going to insist on more punishment.

No matter how intimidated America may be by just Russia's voice, he held his ground, "It is not our job to punish them; it is our job to rehabilitate them. Punishment made the second World War; we are not making a third. But you have punished them both enough already by separating them." Again, Russia laughed at the other's ignorance.

America was naive to what torture Russia was really inflicting on his half of Germany. There was no way a young country like America really understood pain. He had lost nothing in the war, so there was no way he could understand what it felt like. He had no right to decide what penance was due. Russia had lost so much of his population and had his cities flattened. America had had neither. Russia said, keeping himself from letting his anger show through, "On that I must disagree. Tell me, Alfred, what harm has the axis done to you?"

America responded immediately, his hackles obviously raised, "Japan attacked me!"  
Russia replied with the same swiftness and exactly the same aggression, but his was cold and clear instead of impulsive, "Don't play games with me. I lost so much, you lost a couple ships. So, I will keep East Germany until I am satisfied that I have been compensated for my lost."  
America reacted with a growl that sounded like a small dog, "Don't ask me to go along with your sick games, commie bastard. You don't see how this is hurting Ludwig. He asks me every day about when he'll see his brother again. I want to be able to tell him it will be soon, but you have to have your petty vengeance."

Russia felt himself smile at the news. If America was not going to punish West Germany, Russia was glad he could do it from a distance. He said, his own joy seeping into his voice, "Is he suffering?"  
America responded at once, apparently missing the tone completely, "Yes, very much."  
Russia's smile widened and he said simply, "Good."

He slammed the phone down, ending the call. He felt completely elated; his plan was working perfectly. America could be as judgmental as he pleased, it meant nothing. What was certain was that Russia was getting what he wanted.

When they had begun to win the war and push back into German territory, he had spoken to his boss about how to punish both parts of Germany. When Russia had expressed concern that his allies would keep West Germany safe away from him, Stalin had offered him a simple solution, "The only way to really hurt a man is to take what he values most." He had then added, already aware of Russia's feelings, "Take what you want as a spoil of war. His brother will suffer if they are really as close as you've told me."

Russia had taken the advice with some hesitation. Now Russia had the confirmation that he was making the country responsible for the war suffer. Stalin had been right when he advised to take advantage of their sibling bond. Now all there was left to do was break Prussia.

An epiphany struck him. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the office. The answer should have been so obvious. He smiled to himself. It was all crystal clear now; he had the perfect weapon in mind to use against Prussia. The only piece that he still needed was the answer about what Lithuania had told Prussia. He turned with a cruel smile to Lithuania and said, "Stay here, Toris, I have something I want to ask you." In his pocket, Russia curled his hand around the knife again.


	12. Chapter 12

Prussia heard the doorknob turn before Russia stepped into the room with a look on his face that made the albino's heart sink. Desperate to retain some semblance of dignity, he got to his feet with some difficulty. He stood facing Russia, his scabbed chest heaving. The other smiled even more widely, "Eager, are we?"

Something had changed, and it was obvious in the change in Russia. That unshakable confidence was back. Prussia wasn't certain how to interpret this, but he felt a sinking sense of dread. He said, "You know I'm not scared of you." The words were brave, but they were the same ones he had been repeating since he had left Potsdam. The more he spoke them, the more hollow they sounded. Now he wondered if his visible weakness negated the words.

Russia continued to smirk, and Prussia became aware of the fact that the chain attached to his wrists began to shorten again, pulling his hands above his head again. He instinctively straightened his spine, ready to take whatever pain came next with a soldier's discipline. Russia stepped closer, and for only a moment Prussia wished he had the liberty to step back. This closeness was tempting in all the wrong ways. Finally, the Russian spoke, "No, you don't fear me."

He stepped around the albino, surveying the other's shaking frame. Once he was behind Prussia he said, "Toris is right though, you are special to me. Does that scare you?" He ran the back of his hand down Prussia's side, the touch still light. The albino turned his head away from Russia, trying not to hear the words or think about what they meant.  
His voice still hoarse, he said, "That's not true. You're lying to fuck with my head."

Russia's hand disappeared from his side and for only a moment Prussia thought he had won a small victory. Then, Russia's voice sounded in his ear again, "You lied to me, but I would never lie to you."

He stepped away from the other and continued to speak, "You have been a puzzle to me." His footsteps began to trace a circle around Prussia. He continued to speak, his words piercing the air, as cold and clear as ice, "No amount of pain will break you. You can't be seduced into betrayal. You can't be bought with land or power." He paused for only a moment when he reentered the other's field of vision. Despite listing what seemed to be failures, there was a measure of triumph in his expression. This became even clearer when he said, "That loyalty will be of use to me."

Immediately, Prussia spat back, "It doesn't belong to you." He added in a growl, "And it never will." Russia paid the comments no mind.  
Instead, he fixed his eyes on the albino and said, "Every man has a weakness, even you."

Prussia leaned forward as far as the cuffs would allow him to. Now, he had a smile on his face. He had no doubts about when he was saying. His voice sounded strong as he said, "Then do your worst. You didn't oblige me last time I asked." Russia met his eyes resolutely.  
His expression didn't change as he said, "Very well."

Prussia balled his hands into fists, ready to suppress reaction to whatever pain was about to come. But, Russia stepped backwards. He gestured to someone just on the other side of the wall. There was nothing but the sound of static for a couple seconds, and then the grainy sound of a reporter's voice filled the air, "Soviet forces have blocked off all routes into West Berlin. There is no way to get food or supplies to the civilians trapped in the city."

The voice trailed off, but the words had permeated through the air and stuck in Prussia's mind. West Berlin, his brother's half of the city was besieged. It would be impossible to resist a Soviet invasion long, especially if the Western part of the city was as war torn as the East. This was not what he had expected, not the torment he had been prepared for. There was one thought that he would not allow to enter his mind.

Russia spoke it, "The capital of West Germany. Ludwig will be there, don't you think?" Prussia looked up at Russia and clenched his teeth, lest he let slip what he wanted to say. He already knew that the answer was affirmative. Countries lived in their capitals, and Berlin had been the capital before the country had been split. Most likely Germany would be there, which meant that he was trapped. He couldn't respond, but he was shaking from an emotion between agony and anger.

Russia stepped even closer, "How long do you think the city will last?" He took another step forward and said, "But this is a recording. Maybe it has already fallen." He grabbed the albino by the chin and forced Prussia's eyes to meet his. Prussia hoped that Russia couldn't see the desperation in his eyes. But he couldn't push these emotions away. He couldn't stand the thought of Russia hurting his brother.

The violet eyes were manic as the man who they belonged to spoke, "Maybe I already have Ludwig in my hands."  
Prussia spoke the only denial he could come up with, "Alfred won't let you touch him."  
Russia responded with that same manic smile, "Alfred doesn't care about anything but money. He will thank me for taking an expense off his hands."

Prussia felt his eyes start to sting. His mind started to fill with memories to Germany as a little boy, constantly following him around. He couldn't let anyone, especially Russia hurt that child. His voice shook as he said, "Don't you dare touch him." The hand on Prussia's jaw tightened. But, it wasn't the pain that made a drop of moisture roll down his cheek.

Russia's response was firm, "We had an agreement. In exchange for not touching your brother, I got you. You haven't fulfilled your side, so why should I keep mine?" Prussia fervently wished that his hands were free so he could do anything to change this situation. But he was bound and weak. There was only one thing he could do to save his brother, only one option that he could take. Russia added, making the situation even clearer, "You are going to watch your brother break because you refuse to."

Prussia could feel more tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He was already imagining what he had endured inflicted on the man he was trying to protect. Russia continued to speak, emboldened by the other's reactions, "And I will not be as kind to him as I have been to you."  
Prussia managed only a single word, "Don't."  
Russia continued as though he hadn't heard the single word of desperation, "Do you think he'll take the lashes as well as you or will he beg?"

Prussia tried again, desperate to make this end, "Stop. Please stop." The expectation was clear in the violet eyes, Russia said, "No, I have grown tired of asking you to submit. I'm not asking anymore."  
Prussia whined, hoping that this would be enough, "Please, I will do anything."

The words were true. Prussia couldn't hold onto his pride now, not with what was on the line. Russia's smile was making his heart race as the other said, "Anything, Gil?" To prove his point, the albino leaned forward and pressed his lips aggressively against Russia's. The Russian immediately pulled the other against him. He released Prussia's chin and used the free hand to press the albino's bare chest against his own.

Russia pulled away to say, "You're making the right decision."  
Prussia responded, his heart pounding in his chest, "Promise you'll let Ludwig go."

He could feel Russia's hands holding his back and his waist, and it was strangely comforting. He felt owned, possessed. Russia responded, his voice still commanding, "I will once I am satisfied with you." He added, with a lusty smile, "And you know what you need to do." Prussia simply nodded, knowing perfectly well what he was giving up. Russia ran both his hands up the other's arms until he reached the cuffs. Without even looking at what he was doing, he undid both cuffs.

All the tension released, Prussia immediately fell to his knees. This time he did not immediately stand. If Russia wanted him on his knees, then that was where he was going to stay. Russia spoke again, "I'm asking for the last time: Will you give yourself to me?"  
Prussia looked up at him and said simply, "Yes."

Russia's smile could be described only as predatory. He purred, "What was that, Gil?" Not yet completely willing to play this game, Prussia felt himself smirk. Without saying anything, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the smooth leather of the Russian's boots. He heard Russia gasp at the show of complete submission.  
Then, he looked back up at the other country and said, "I'm yours, Vanya."

He used the diminutive, the name that he knew would drive Russia crazy, so that Russia would stop playing with him. Russia said, "Stand up." It was a crisp command and Prussia followed it with a soldier's discipline. Once he was standing, Russia wasted no time in pulling Prussia into another deep kiss. It was hungry, deep, and consuming. The albino offered no resistance as Russia's tongue invaded him. Now he was letting himself slip away, give way to his own lust. All of his depraved desires took hold, no longer restrained by duty or discipline.

He threaded his fingers through Russia's hair and pressed himself even deeper into the kiss. He was giving away every shred of dignity, finally giving in. He felt a strange lightness, a bliss, take him and urge him onward. Russia's hands roamed roughly over him, exploring his body entirely. Finally pulling away, Russia said between deep breaths, "You're going to become one with me, but not here."  
The albino leaned in and kissed Russia lightly again, "What's wrong with here." T

he other put a hand to Prussia's cheek, which was still wet from the tears that were already forgotten. He answered, "You deserve better than that." Now Prussia could see it, made blatantly clear in Russia's eyes, in his words. There was more than lust between them. There was affection there too. That was why Russia could not agree to this crass setting, even in the throws of passion. He said, continuing his thought, "Come with me." No traces of resistance left, Prussia nodded.

The journey through the house was a blur, unimportant in the scope of events. The next event that was tangible was Russia pressing Prussia against the door of the bedroom. His lips were against the albino's again. Desperate to move forward, Prussia blindly grasped for the doorknob. Once he found it, he turned it and they both stumbled into the bedroom.

Russia took the time to turn and make sure the door was closed. Then he turned back to his prey. Immediately their lips were pressed together. Prussia could feel Russia's teeth grazing over his lower lip, just hard enough to make the skin sing. The Russian then started to kiss down Prussia's neck, his teeth undoubtedly leaving marks. But Prussia felt more alive with every bite. His mind was curiously clear. The only thoughts that permeated through the fog of sensation were of Russia and there was no regret, no shame.

He allowed himself to bend against Russia while stretching his neck to allow more access. Russia breathed in his ear, "You certain you don't want to resist." Prussia ground his hips against the other.  
Then he responded, "Yes."

Then, struck by an idea, he put both his hands on Russia's shoulders. Gently, he created space between them. He could see the look of confusion that appeared on Russia's face, but he made his intentions clear when he used both hands to undo the front of the other's jacket and the shirt underneath. Then he dropped to his knees. He glanced up at Russia and smiled before leaning in and running his tongue up the other's abs. Russia's hand held the back of his head, guiding him up. He was careful to caress the skin with his lips. He heard the Russian groan as Prussia worked his way up his chest, "Good boy."

The albino would have smirked if his lips had not been busy. He was refusing to be a passive part of this. He wouldn't be a toy for Russia to use and discard. If he was going to let Russia be his master, then he did not intend to be completely passive. He came to the other's nipple and took it between his teeth. Russia gasped and his hand tightened on the albino's head. Prussia ran his tongue around the nipple one more time before looking up at Russia again and saying, "I'm not good."

He could see how heavily Russia was breathing, and he could see the lust in the violet eyes fixed on him. Judging by the pressure on the back of his head, Prussia knew that Russia wanted him to stand. He did exactly that and met Russia's eyes again. The other, still fully in control, said, his voice taking on a rough quality that spoke to a complete lack of control, "The bed. Now." Prussia took it as an order and obeyed out of instinct. He sat on the edge of the bed, intending to lie down and prostrate himself before Russia.

However, Russia descended on him as soon as he was sitting. Teeth met the soft skin of his neck. He moaned and arched his back up. Russia freed his mouth to say, "If you're going to be bad, I'm going to punish you." He then looped one arm under the albino's legs and pulled them over so that he was laid out on the bed. Then Russia ran his hand up the inside of Prussia's still clothed thigh.

He spoke again as he unbuttoned the albino's pants, "You've wanted this from the start, haven't you?" The question was playful, but the answer would be revealing. If Prussia was honest, he would be telling Russia about all of the fantasies he had been fighting back for years. He wasn't certain he wanted to share that intimacy yet.  
He looked up at Russia and the violet eyes melted all of his walls. He said, "Yes, but loyalty comes first."

The Russian responded with a surprising smile and leaned forward to run his tongue across the purple marks he had already made on Prussia's neck. He said, "You're so strong." His hand snaked into Prussia's pants. The albino moaned breathily as Russia stroked him. The voice continued in his ear, "And now you're all mine."  
Prussia moaned and managed to say, "Are you going to fuck me or just tease me?"  
Russia smirked and said with another hard pump, "Don't worry, I have plans for you all night." He whispered, finishing his thought, "You won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Letting his urges take him, Prussia spread his legs obligingly. Using his free hand, Russia undid his own pants. Then he used both hands to drag off the German's pants. Prussia captured Russia's lips with his own, immediately letting the other's tongue explore every corner of his mouth. Then the Russian pulled away again. He brought his hand to his mouth and slowly pulled off his glove with his teeth. He offered his fingers to the albino who knew exactly what was expected of him. He took the fingers in his mouth.

Small, desperate parts of his mind pleaded with him to resist. But he had already made his decision and there was no turning back. Now these voices must be silenced the same way that those that had longed for Russia had been before. He ran his tongue around each finger with the diligence he applied to everything. He was also aware that the more thoroughly he did this, the less pain he would be in.

Russia pulled the fingers away from Prussia's mouth and gently inserted the first finger. The feeling was not completely unpleasant. Prussia had healed from the last time, so he was not likely to start bleeding again. Russia was surprisingly gentle as he inserted another finger and began to feel around. He said, his voice softening from the earlier confidence, "How does that feel?"

Prussia groaned, attempting to communicate how good this felt. It was not simply the physical pleasure, it was the feeling of completely giving in to his base, physical desires. He was releasing his own control and letting himself react freely, and that's what felt so perfect. Unlike the last time, Russia was being amazingly patient. He moved his fingers, both stretching the other and feeling for the spot that would make everything but pleasure vanish. His finger brushed up against it and Prussia immediately moaned.

Taking this as a sign that the other was ready, Russia slowly removed his fingers and pushed himself into Prussia. The albino resisted the urge to clamp his hand over his mouth to silence the strangled moan that escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and let the sensation take him. He could hear Russia breathing heavily in his ear as he made his first move. Unlike the first time, there was no pain. Prussia could tell that Russia was being careful not to hurt him, almost too careful. The words came in his ear between breaths, "Look at me, Gil."

His name was spoken in a purr full of emotion, of lust and possession. Prussia opened his eyes and met Russia's again. As their eyes met and Russia brushed against that spot inside of him again, a jolt went through him. He could feel that deep inside of himself, something shattered like glass, crushed by the enormity of this moment. He was undone, broken. Everything he had held sacred faded into nothing; his darkest desires took their place. Those eyes piercing through him, those hands roughly caressing his body were both taking the broken pieces and reshaping them. With every movement, Russia stroked the lust, the ambition; building them to a fever pitch.

It was no longer enough to lay here and submit. That was a token gesture of surrender. That was not the behavior of the creature that Russia was calling forth. Prussia wrapped his right hand in Russia's hair and used his other hand against the bed as leverage. Using what strength remained in his muscles, Prussia managed to flip them over. Taking the moment of confusion as an advantage, the albino used his free hand to pin both of Russia's hands above his head on the pillow. He leaned in and said in Russia's ear, adding a sharp bite to the earlobe, "This isn't just your game."

The sadistic smile that appeared on Russia's face made it perfectly clear to Prussia what was going to happen next. Rather than dreading it, he welcomed the tension. The Russian easily freed his hands and then sat up, using one hand to grab the arch of the albino's white hip and the other to provide a point of support on Prussia's back. The German put both of his hands in the other's hair, pulling their heads together so that their foreheads were touching. Their eyes met and Russia said, "Yes it is."

As he intensified his pace, Prussia was past witty retorts. He kept his eyes fixed on Russia. The other drank in the albino's moans as though they were the sustaining him. Each shallow breath they took they took together, becoming one in this moment. Prussia was completely submerged in violet, but it did not drown him.

Then Russia found the perfect spot. Prussia's back arched and he finally broke eye contact to close his eyes as his exhausted vocal chords produced a sound of complete ecstasy. Russia's nails raked down his back, reopening the wounds the lash had made. No longer able to hold on, the albino's hands tightened in the other's hair as he screamed his climax.

In the totality of sensation, Prussia felt his heart stop and start again with a strong, novel rhythm. The feeling of Russia's final thrust came through the hypersensitive haze of orgasm. Prussia felt his back, still stinging from the injuries inflicted on it, pressed again against the soft bed sheets and he knew that he had been gently laid back on the bed.

His eyes were still closed, but he could feel a calloused hand brushing his face and he could hear the soft, accented voice in his ear, "Did you enjoy that, comrade?" A contented smile appeared on his face as he whispered back his confirmation. The strain of the long battle fought and lost lifted from him, he drifted into unconsciousness. Here he was safe in the arms of the man who was both his owner and his lover.


	13. Chapter 13

Russia woke in the middle of the night and felt the sheets around him. He expected to see Prussia still asleep beside him, but he found nothing. He opened his eyes to see that the sheets still had the indent of the person who had been there, but the albino himself was gone. Russia's heart, which had been full of victory only hours before, sank.

He should have known that this would not last. This was yet another escape attempt, but this one was not of his planning. If Prussia had even a few hours head start in his own territory, he could easily disappear. Russia would not lose him, not now. He propelled himself out of bed as quickly as possible. In a whirl, he found pants and pulled his jacket on over his bare chest. He stormed to the door and threw it open.

The only thing he could think to do was to start the hunt for Prussia, but his own emotions kept intruding. He had had a pledge of loyalty and he had thought that would be enough. Anger battled inside his head, telling him continually that he should have expected this. If a man could lie once, then he could lie again. Russia ran his finger over his lip. It had felt so real this time.

He continued to walk down the hall, his mind reeling. But, a sound caught in his ear and stopped him in his tracks. It was quieter than a whisper, but it carried over the tumult in Russia's mind. It was the sound of a strange kind of dry sobs. Curious of the source of the sound, he turned down another hall and followed it. He turned another corner and stopped.

Prussia was bathed in moonlight. His form was seated on the floor with his back against a wall. From where he stood, Russia could see that Prussia's hand was in his own hair. The position was staggeringly vulnerable, like a wounded animal. All of Russia's anger vanished in a second. This wasn't what he had imagined at all, but he was not certain how to interpret this show of emotion.

He stepped closer, searching for the words to approach the albino with. He didn't want to undo all the progress that he had made, and he knew that the wrong words might do that. He finally said once he was close enough, "If you are trying to run again, you haven't gotten very far."  
Prussia glanced up and said, "I told you I was going to submit and I will keep that promise."

This confirmation lifted the last of the weight from Russia. He could still trust in Prussia's promises. He smiled as the warmth of this realization rose in him. Suddenly, Prussia stood. He said, anger rising in his voice, "Stop looking at me like that!" His eyes were wild, even rabid. But Russia couldn't explain this sudden anger. He had been looking at the other with compassion, even affection. There had been nothing in his gaze that should have elicited this reaction.

Prussia took an unsteady step forward and with no pretense grabbed Russia's jacket. Russia could have easily stopped him, but he was intrigued. There was practically nothing the albino could do to seriously harm him now, and this action may explain why Prussia was so distraught. The albino pushed the jacket off of Russia's shoulders so that the entirety of his chest was exposed. The red eyes searched it desperately until he found the spot he was looking for. Prussia placed his hand against the scar, made by his own bullet. Then he looked up at Russia and said, "What about this makes you want to smile at me like that?"

The scar carried memories for Russia, very painful memories. But as he looked at Prussia, he could see agony. It was strange to see so much regret in the same ruby eyes that had been so resolute in betrayal.

He turned the thought over in his mind and reexamined it. He found a new layer of understanding beneath it. All the times that Prussia had insisted he had no qualms about the Third Reich had been little more than theatre. Russia could not have even hoped for this. He had intended to simply ignore the war once he no longer had to use it as justification for punishment. He hadn't imagined, especially with the constant insistences, that the albino had been anything but satisfied with his part in the war.

Russia placed his hand on top of the other's and said, "You did shoot me." He paused and then said, making sure he was looking directly at Prussia, "But, I still want you." The albino angrily pulled his hand away from Russia's grasp.  
He said, his voice straining to reach anger but failing and only managing desperation, "I shot you twice! Why can't you just hate me?" He faltered and repeated, "Stop looking at me like that!"

Russia refused to remove his gaze from the other. He wouldn't deny what he felt, and wouldn't let Prussia dictate how he should feel. He answered the question brazenly, "You did. But you also fought me with every fiber of your being. I respect you for that." He reached out and put his hand on the other's face. He wasn't certain if he expected Prussia to pull away, but the albino did not. Instead, he took a deep breath, as though attempting to calm himself.

Taking this as a sign of progress, Russia stepped even closer and said, "A coward would have surrendered. But you're better than that." Prussia shook his head slightly, but it didn't seem to be a real gesture of denial.  
He said, now softly, "This isn't right."  
Russia responded as he leaned in, "Right be damned."

He kissed the albino on the lips, but he kept it gentle. He wasn't going to force himself on Prussia now; he was going to let the other make the move. If Prussia consented, then all their fighting was over. The albino moved into the kiss, reciprocating in equal measure. Russia pulled away to say, "I respect you, I want you."

He watched the red eyes mist over with affection. Russia put his other hand on the other side of Prussia's cheek. He said, trying to express love without saying that vulnerable word, "I want to make you happy."

He connected their lips again and he felt Prussia's lips part invitingly for him. There was no resistance, no regret. Russia could feel it; this was the breaking point. It was more than the physical. Prussia was letting him in, letting him penetrate deep and drink in all of the anger and pain. When he pulled away again, he said, "Come back to bed. You don't need to run from these feelings. You are my comrade now and I won't let them hurt you." The other nodded silently. He let Russia put his arm around his waist and lead him back to the bedroom.

Once they were back in bed, Prussia spoke again, running his finger over the bullet scar, "So, you don't hate me for this?" Russia ran his hand through the albino's white hair and said, "No. Go to sleep, I won't let you go."

It was an honest answer. He blamed Germany for the war, for the betrayal. The gun had been in Prussia's hand, but the man was a soldier and he had been following orders. The regret that he had seen tonight was only confirmation of that theory. He kept his arms firmly around the albino as the man drifted back into sleep. Russia ran his fingers through the other's hair one more time. He intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost. He would keep East Germany here by his side. As he looked at him now, one of his oldest memories came back to him.

The ice shattered as sharply as though a sword had been forced through it. It made a roar like thunder as the whole surface gave way. Russia had been standing on the very edge of the land, cognizant of how thin the ice actually was.

He watched as the boy in white who had challenged him attempted to keep his balance on the breaking, slippery surface. Then he fell under the surface. The white limbs were visible above the surface before the weight of chainmail pulled them further down. Even though he should be glad to see this happen to his enemy, Russia felt an uncomfortable sinking feeling, as though he was sinking into the frigid water with the young knight.

Without fully thinking about what he was doing, Russia stripped off his own cloak and ran forward. When he reached the edge of the break in the ice, he dove into the water without hesitation. The cold seized him as soon as he broke the surface of the water. He could feel it through all the clothing he was wearing, which only clung to his body more firmly as he got deeper into the water.

He opened his eyes and felt the chill of the water immediately attack them. But, he had gone in the water for a single reason and it required his eyes to be open. Considering his weather, the cold should not bother him. He could see his target in the water, unconscious and silhouetted in white. His surcoat and cape billowed around him, creating an entire cloud of white. With the color of his eyes hidden by his eyelids, the boy was entirely white except for the black cross on his chest.

Russia swam closer and reached out. He managed to grab a handful of white fabric and pulled. The unconscious body was much heavier than it appeared, and it was difficult to move him. Russia pulled him close enough and took a knife from his belt. He slashed through the straps that held on the heavy cape. With the weight of the wet fabric removed, it was possible to pull the albino up through the water.

This should be tiring work, but Russia's body was strong, made even more so by adrenaline. He used all the strength in his arms and legs to swim to the surface carrying the personification of the Teutonic knights with him. The longer he was in the cold water, the less he felt it. Something burning inside of him was keeping him warm.

Once he reached the surface, he put one arm on the edge of the ice and used his grip to pull his own head above the surface first. He took a deep gasp of air in and the air burned his frozen lungs. However, it was enough to fortify him to put in the effort to pull the albino's unconscious body up onto the safe surface of the ice.

The boy laid on the surface of the ice unmoving. His chest was barely rising and falling and his pale lips appeared slightly blue. Russia pulled himself up onto the ice and then looked at the boy he had just saved. He was pulling in painful, shuddering breaths and shaking, but his concern was for the Teutonic boy. He noticed that the albino was not really breathing. He must have inhaled water when he went under.

The Russian was immediately seized by panic. He hadn't pulled the other country from the water just to watch him die on the ice. He did the only thing he could think to do: He put his hands in the middle of the other's chest and pushed down several times. To his surprise, the other's chest actually convulsed. The albino coughed up water, but he remained completely unconscious.

Russia put his hand to the other's face and felt that all vestiges of warmth had left the flesh. But, the boy was breathing and that was important. There was no question that the chainmail had to be removed, the metal was far colder than anything else. Using the knife again, Russia cut away the surcoat. Once that was gone, he was able to pull the chainmail off of the limp form. The Teutonic Knight was left in only his linen shirt and pants. Still, the cloth clung wet and cold to the pale skin.

Russia was shivering, but he did not think to address it. He had won this battle and would be able to return to his own warm hearth soon. He took the other country in his arms and stood. He walked back to where his cloak lay. The cloth was thick and dry; it could provide enough warmth. He took it and wrapped it around the Teutonic boy, who was still not conscious. But, he had begun to move slowly, which was a promising sign. There was nothing else that Russia could do. He could not bring the albino back to his own keep. It wasn't within his power to take an entire order of knights with him. There was nothing else to do but return him to his ruler.

The leader of this group of knights was still safe on the other side of the lake. Russia took his foe firmly in his arms and set his course for the leader. When he reached him with the albino beginning to stir in his arms. He knew that he was among his enemies, but none would dare hurt him with their order so obviously in his arms. He said to the mortal, "He needs to be warm. Put him by a fire."

The mortal reached out and took the albino, there was care in the knite's hold on his order. He said, looking at Russia, "Why did you save him. He is your enemy."  
Russia responded simply with the only answer he could find. It would have been simpler to watch his enemy drown, but, "I couldn't let him go."

Russia brushed back a stray hair as he watched East Germany sleep and whispered, "I won't ever let you go."

A timid knock sounded on the door and woke Russia. He carefully pulled his arm out from under East Germany, who was still sleeping soundly. Careful not to wake the other, he got out of bed. He walked softly over to the door, still careful not to make a sound. Knowing how little the albino had slept the night before, Russia was in no hurry to rouse him.

He recognized the knock, it came the same way every morning. But this particular morning the sound was even more welcome. He opened the door slightly to see Lithuania holding a tray of breakfast. He smiled and said, "You're on time." He noticed that the Baltic man's eyes, usually steadfastly fixed on the ground, were drifting us to the love bite that was obvious on Russia's ear. It was one of the few that East Germany had left the night before. Russia felt himself smile, glad to see that his progress was being acknowledged.

He said, continuing to feel supremely amused, "I never thanked you properly." He kept the statement intentionally vague so that Lithuania would have to ask what he meant. There was no reason to simply tell his subordinate the truth.  
As he predicted, Lithuania said, "For what?"

It was slightly out of line to ask so openly, but Russia allowed it because he had set up this response. He said, "For this." With that, he pulled the door all the way open so that Lithuania could see the entirety of the room. There was no need for Russia to elaborate, what he meant was obvious in his bed. Lithuania's green eyes widened as he understood exactly what had happened. Tremors went through him, making his terror perfectly clear. Eager to make his point further, Russia said, "You were very helpful. Without you this would have taken much longer."

He laughed slightly at the look of utter horror on the Baltic man's face. Lithuania had acted thinking he was thwarting Russia, but his actions had been key. Still smiling, Russia took the tray of breakfast and closed the door with Lithuania still looking stuck between shocked and horrified.

A groggy voice sounded behind him, "Was that Toris?" Russia turned back to East Germany and took a moment to take the man in. The marks of the night before, bruises and bite marks, were obvious on his white skin. There were trails of purple bites that Russia was tempted to trace with his fingers. They were his marks, and they showed that he owned East Germany completely.

He responded, "Yes, it's his duty to bring breakfast." He walked back over to the bed and sat on the end of it. He placed the food between them. Without waiting for the other's approval, East Germany reached out and took some of the food. Considering that the albino had not eaten in quite a while, Russia allowed it. There was no reason, other than a breach of discipline, to hold him back.

As he started to eat, the albino spoke, "If you had invited him in, I would have a few things to say to him." A smirk appeared on his lips, making it clear what he actually meant. Russia appreciated how brazen he was being, but he had other priorities.  
Russia responded, "He's not going anywhere. You'll get your chance."

He leaned in and put his hand on the albino's bare thigh. He felt a tiny quiver go through the flesh. East Germany was already excited by his touch, which was exactly what Russia wanted. The German pushed the tray out from between them, allowing Russia to lean even closer and say, "I'm not done corrupting you yet." He moved his hand farther up the albino's thigh and the man moaned wantonly.

Russia continued to talk, "So excited already? You have the libido of a rabbit." He paused for a moment. The comment had triggered another thought. East Germany did look like a rabbit with his white fur and red eyes. He would hold onto that thought for later. For now, he focused on turning the albino to jelly.

He whispered as he pulled East Germany's hips against his own, "What should I do with you?"  
The other responded as once, his lusty, helpless tone melting Russia, "Whatever you want. I'm yours, master."

Russia couldn't stop himself from smiling as he kissed the albino deeply again. This is what he wanted, what he had been working for. Now Prussia was gone and East Germany was his. He could run his hands freely over this man now and take him as he pleased. He already had plans for how he was going to use this man. He was going to fulfill all the promises he had made to the other, all of the promises of power, but he was going to start now with the promise that East Germany wasn't going to be able to walk any time soon.


	14. Chapter 14

Prussia woke with a start on a couch in his own living room. He wasn't in pain, but he could feel stinging bite marks on his neck. There was also a very slight ache in his left arm. He put his hand to his neck and let out a low groan. He was not the kind of whore who should have these vulgar marks on his skin.

His head was spinning and he couldn't get a single thought to focus. Questions that he couldn't find the answers to continued to surface. He attempted to organize them in order of importance. How long had it been since he had left Potsdam with Russia? He focused on this question, attempting to find the answer. It slowly came to him: It had been almost half a century.

Why had it been so long and why couldn't he remember? He had foggy recollections, but it was like looking at his own memories in a shattered mirror. He could make out pieces and shapes, but the whole refused to come together. But as he pressed his fingers against the bite marks on his neck one part of his memory did come back to him. Year after year of being used were suddenly dazzliningly clear. Russia's hands on him, Russia's lips on his, Russia deep inside of him.

A shiver of complete disgust went down his spine. He shook his head, not completely certain what he was denying. What delerium had led him to offer himself up, not just once but continually, to Russia? Any pride he once had was gone. The memories were falling into place now, each snapping into place as soon as the one before it faded. Like dominos, they fell in his mind. Prussia wasn't certain if he should weep for himself or not. All the years were coming back to him and the picture was clear. He had been nothing more than Russia's dog, to be loosed on his enemies when necessary.

Slowly, not certain if he was going to pass out if he stood up, he swung his legs off the couch. He reordered his thought. He was less than a dog, he had been Russia's bitch, to be used as an attack dog or to be fucked whenever Russia pleased. Waking up here was further proof of that. It was classless to leave a man like this on his own couch. Somehow, Russia had gotten inside of his mind and convinced him that this degrading debauchery was right. He could even call it brainwashing. As soon as the word occurred to him, it sounded right. He had been brainwashed. Russia had completely changed who he was with sweet words and poisonous promises.

Prussia felt like he had been asleep for decades and was only now waking to reality. He sat up and looked down at himself and immediately noticed that the iron cross that he wore around his neck was gone. That piece of jewelry had represented his strength, his power as an empire. But, now it was gone. A single memory flashed in his mind of watching the pendant melt. The most purturbing part of the memory was not the loss of the iron cross, it was that Prussia had not reacting to it. Instead, he had gotten lost in Russia's eyes.

He shook his head again, more violently this time. He had a strong will, and yet he had let Russia take away anything he held dear. He felt like he was going to be sick. He stood up, not certain what he was going to do, but he needed to make it right. There had to be something he could do without delay to show that he was no longer under Russia's thumb. But, he was shaking from the shame of his memories.

There had to be a solution.

Then it came to him. There was a single symbol of Russia's diminion over Eastern Europe and that was the wall that stood in the middle of Berlin. That, at least, was under Prussia's authority. He walked over to where the phone was sitting on a table. From here, there would be no difficulty in calling in an order. He swallowed all the emotions that all of his memories had triggered. They were bitter and heavy in his throat. In order to do this, he had to be completely in control of himself.

He picked up the phone and waited patiently until the man on the other end picked up, "Sir?"  
Prussia immediately started giving orders, "Announce that the border with West Germany is open."  
He could hear the surprise in the mortal's voice as the man responded, "Are you sure, sir? Do you want to wait for morning?"  
Prussia responded, keeping his voice sharp and to the point, "I want the border open now, soldier. And I want that fact announced to the whole country. Do I need to repeat myself?"  
The man gasped like Prussia was threatening to use the Stazi on him. He said quickly, "No, sir. I'll do it immediately, sir."

With that, Prussia hung up the phone. Now that his order was in effect, he knew it was only a matter of time before the wall came down. With the border open, no one would resist the temptation to pull down the wall. If the way Prussia felt was any indication, the wall would be little more than a crumbling symbol by morning.

With that done, only one duty remained for Prussia. He needed to find his way back to his brother's arms. Germany had been without him for far too long, so long that they might be strangers to each other. But Prussia would not let this last.

He walked to the room he vaguely remembered to be his bedroom and began to search for clothing. All of it was rather plain, but that was to be expected of communism. Prussia managed to find a shirt, pants, and a jacket that were not objectionably plain. He got dressed and did his best to pull fabric over the ugly marks that Russia had left on his body. If he was going to meet his brother, then he was not going to let him see the bruises on his skin. If Germany still cared for him the way he used to, then seeing Prussia's skin peppered with bruises would hurt him.

Once he was certain he looked at least presentable, Prussia turned to the door. As he walked through the streets of Berlin, now rebuilt with the monotony of communist uniformity, he heard what could only be described as a roar. As word spread that the bonds of the communist government, the people started to move freely to the wall. Prussia's own heart began to pound in his chest, beating with the excitement of his people. As he approached the wall, he could already see the people gathered, voices lifted as they attacked the symbol of Soviet oppression.

Prussia felt himself smile at the prospect of taking down the wall, of seeing his brother again. When he reached the crowd, Prussia walked directly up to the wall. He could already see how it was being dismantled by human hands already. There were people on top of the wall already. They had already cut the barbed wire that had been keeping people from climbing the wall. Eager to find his brother, Prussia extended his hand to one of the mortals on top of the wall, already certain they would take it. The man took it and pulled the albino up.

From the top of the wall, Prussia could see a crowd of people on the other sides. He could see the tops of several blonde heads, but he didn't know if any of them belonged to his brother. There was only one way to find Germany for sure. Without any hesitation, he dropped off the wall and landed on the West side. Once he hit the ground, he began to look around. Certainly Germany was as excited about their reunion as Prussia was, so he would be close to the wall.

He scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar face. He did not see him anywhere. Unbidden words rang in his ears, echoes from Russia's presence, "He doesn't care about you."  
Prussia muttered to himself, trying to make the words disappear, "Shut up, it's not true."

Then he heard a familiar voice, not changed by the intervening years, "Gilbert!" He turned in the crowd and met the wide blue eyes of his brother. Germany's face broke into a smile and he ran forward. He hugged Prussia with remarkable force. Prussia's feet left the ground as his brother pulled up to his height. The albino wrapped his arms, with difficulty, around his brother's broad shoulders.

Once the excitement had faded slightly, Germany let his brother's feet touch the ground again. He said, still sounding like the boy that Prussia had left behind, "I thought you were never coming back."  
Prussia put his hand comfortingly on the back of his brother's head. He spoke, "I've been gone for a very long time, but now I'm home." He added, keeping his arms firmly around Germany, "I'm so proud of you, Luddy. You've been so strong."  
Germany started to shake slightly from what felt like sobs. He said, "I missed you. Let's go home."

As Prussia lay in bed that night feeling supremely happy with this reunion. He now had his brother back and reuniting the country would follow soon. But, as he closed his eyes and turned on his side, he felt a phantom hand brush his face and the voice of a man who was hundreds of miles away rang through his mind, "Do you miss me already, bunny?"


End file.
